


Eu Sei Que Não Se Ama Sozinho

by pricingham



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: (it's stanley), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bisexual Gaston (Disney), Canon Gay Character, Curses, First Kiss, Gaston (Disney) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Gaston (Disney) Lives, Gore, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Mutual Pining, Trans Female Character, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricingham/pseuds/pricingham
Summary: (title from amar pelos dois - "i know you can't love by yourself")Gaston survived the fall, that's correct. He's forgiven by LeFou, another truth. But what he doesn't know is if he can survive the curse Agathe cast on him or be forgiven by the townspeople after trying to kill the Prince.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a known gaston apologist and yes i know ten thousand people and their mother wrote this but like. whatmever welcome to My take on beast!gaston aka Werewolves - it's kinda inspired by ginger snaps a Rly good movie y'all should watch anyway! enjoy i won't promise regular updates but, yeah imma try to at least finish it lmao

Gaston pulled the trigger, the bullet flying and fatally wounding the Beast. He grinned triumphantly, although it didn’t last long. The bridge he was standing on began to collapse and Gaston realized it too late.

His eyes widened as the rocks succumbed below him and he lost his footing, falling into the darkness.

He wanted to scream but the only thing that came out of his throat was a coarse sound, something similar to a strangled whine.

He felt his pistol escape his grip and closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal impact, not at all ready for it.

He thought about his family and felt himself sob, but it was replaced by a small smile when he remembered how he was loved by all and would certainly be missed.

Those were his thoughts when his body hit a secure walkway, his head hitting the rocks with such strength he blacked out immediately.

Gaston had only a few flashes of conscience before nothingness consumed him completely — a hand under his head; a dark silhouette; a hurt cry that sounded eerily close to his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for throwing up rest in pieces gaston

When he woke up, there was only pain. His neck hurt, his ankle felt bruised — or worse — and his head hurt so much he nearly forgot about his neck. He wondered if he was in Heaven, then came to the realization God wouldn’t let him suffer like that there. Hell it was, then.

“You’re not in Heaven nor Hell,” a voice near him said, quiet.

Gaston opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the light. He sat up slowly, the pain from his ankle jolting up his leg. “Who’re you? Where… is this? Where am I?”

“I,” the voice said, “am the so-called filthy hag. And you’re in my home.”

“Your… home,” he repeated, looking around. More sticks, grass and dirt than anything else, the place looked like all but a place to live. At least comfortably.

“Not everyone can afford living in a mansion, monsieur LeGume.”

Gaston let out a whimper. Not of pain, but of embarrassment. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t call me that. And I don’t live in a _mansion_. It’s a… large cottage.” His heart felt heavy as he remembered it. He missed its warmth, its familiarity. “I should… go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Agathe told him. “You’ll stay there and let me heal you.”

“LeFou can do that,” he assured, trying to rise to his feet. He fell flat on the ground after a few rather pathetic attempts and decided it was time to give up.

“I’m afraid that might not be the case,” she said.

Gaston frowned. LeFou had always been there by his side, why would it be any different now? “What do you mean?” She was silent. Gaston would have lost his temper had he not been so exhausted. He watched as she poured some hot water in an odd cup. “Agathe,” he called.

“Yes?” She looked at him, perfectly calm.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Well, what do you remember?”

“Going after that… beast,” he said the word like it was poisonous, “with the entire village. _Including_ LeFou.”

“Well, he’s a beast no longer,” Agathe told him before going back to her drink. “He’s human again.”

“Again. That monster was never human.” Agathe sighed and Gaston sat up. He felt dizzy, due to both pain and confusion. “What happened? If I didn’t kill the beast, if he became… human, what happened? ...Is he alright?”

“The prince is alright, yes. Married Belle not long ago,” she said.

“He did _what_?! So, she wouldn’t marry _me_ , the village’s hunter and war hero, the most… _Perfect_ man in town, but she’ll marry some furry, pathetic _beast_?!” He looked over, incredulous, at Agathe, who said nothing. “What?”

“Maybe that tone and that ego drove her off,” she replied.

Gaston scoffed. “Every woman in the village would kill to marry me.”

She handed him the cup. “Just drink.”

He eyed the drink and scrunched his nose. “I didn’t mean the prince when I asked if he was alright,” Gaston said before taking a sip. Strange. It tasted like the honey lemon tea his mother made for the winter nights. “I meant…” He clenched his jaw before drinking more. He was too proud to admit he cared for anyone other than himself.

“Your oldest friend and most loyal companion?”

He ignored the fact she seemed to be mocking him and replied, “...Yes.”

“He is.”

Gaston sighed in relief and finished the strange drink Agathe had given him to mask it. He put the cup down next to him.

“Your memories should come back to you soon,” she told him.

Gaston frowned and looked at her. “Did you poison me?”

“No, monsieur.”

He squinted. “How did you make that… thing taste like my mother’s tea? Sorcery?”

“You could say so,” she said.

“So besides being a beggar, you’re also a witch…”

“I prefer the term enchantress.”

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna wake up and be a frog,” he grumbled.

“I don’t turn people into frogs, monsieur LeGume.” Gaston whined at the sound of his last name.

“Just call me Gaston,” he said, almost pleading. The pain in his ankle and neck started to fade away slowly. “How long have I been here?”

“Few days,” she said without looking over. “We can go to the village later if your ankle is any better; I have a crutch you can use.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, teleport us there?”

“I cast spells, not miracles, Gaston.”

“You turned a ridiculously hideous beast into a human,” Gaston replied.

“Well, yes. But that’s because I had turned him into a beast in the first place.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

“My ankle is possibly broken, it’s not like I have anything else to do besides listening to you and complaining.”

“It’s not broken, it’s healing,” she told him. “But very well, if you insist.”

Gaston listened, very likely for the first time in his life ever since the War, to the story. Some rude prince that lived in the castle had refused her, as an old woman, shelter in exchange of a rose and so she turned him into a beast. There were some other sub-plots about the staff becoming talking furniture and some sort of time loop that fell over Villeneuve, as well as memory erasing of the castle and its inhabitants but it didn’t matter to him as much. “Why did you turn him back into a human?”

“He found someone who loved him as a beast and he loved them back.”

“Alright, let me see if I get it,” Gaston said, sitting up. “You turned a twenty-one year-old into a _beast_ because he didn’t let you stay in his castle? And if he didn’t find love he’d stay like that forever?”

“Did you not pay attention to the story?”

“Well, yes. But why such a long punishment? He made a mistake, we all do.”

“Should have known someone like you would say that.”

“Someone like me.”

“Yes.”

Gaston frowned. He didn’t know whether or not to be offended. “Can we go to the village, now?”

“Of course. But before that,” she said, “the same rules apply to you.”

“Same rules as the Beast?”

“Yes. I won't turn you into a monster, I don't believe I need to do that,” Agathe said. “But you must find someone who loves you and you must love them back.” Gaston didn't know what to think about the gender neutral language. “And I mean true love, not just simple admiration and awe.”

Gaston scoffed. “That'll be easy.”

“It's not as easy as it seems,” Agathe told him before helping him up. “Your horse showed up nearby a couple of days ago, we can go with him and the carriage.”

“Henri?” Gaston turned around. He hadn't noticed him until now but there he stood, his most loyal, non-human, companion, Henri. Gaston grinned and let out a laugh. He limped over to his horse. “My friend, how I’ve missed you,” he said, petting the bridge of its nose.

“You seem to have missed him quite a lot,” Agathe pointed out.

“I have,” he said. “He’s the only thing I have left of my father.” Gaston let a suppressed sigh and took the crutch Agathe handed him.

“You want to talk about your family,” Agathe said, mid journey.

“Yes,” he said.

“That wasn’t a question, Monsieur.”

“...Oh.”

Agathe smiled softly. “Well, tell me about them.”

“My mother was a farmer and my father a hunter and a tavern keeper. I was supposed to inherit it after he died but I told him I’d rather be a hunter.” There was a pause. Usually, LeFou would ask him for more, “it’s the minor details that really paint the picture,” he’d say. But, then again, LeFou wasn't there. “They both died in the war.” There was a silence that followed. It wasn't particularly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Gaston stiffened when Agathe touched him. He jumped at the feeling of a spark and frowned at Agathe, eyes wide. “What was that? Did you turn me into something? Am I _ugly_ now?!”  His voice trembled when he almost squealed the last question.

“No, monsieur. But that’s exactly why I put a spell on you. You need to be less vain. You have four months,” Agathe said mysteriously.

“Great, this is fantastic. I have a broken ankle, a concussion and now four months left to live! I’m doing incredible!,” Gaston nearly yelled.

“I didn’t say you were going to die, Gaston.”

“I suppose! But you didn’t say I _wasn’t_ going to die, either.”

“You will not die. You’ll just slowly turn into some kind of beast,” she told him, not looking one inch away from the road.

Gaston took in a deep breath and collapsed in his seat, hands gripping the crutch that sat between his legs. “I’m going to die.”

“You’ll die because you won’t be as beautiful as you are now?”

“First of all, thank you, I know. Second of all, _yes_.” He sighed. “How long is this going to take?”

“Four months,” she replied.

“Not that, Agathe,” he replied in a tired voice. “This! This trip.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

Gaston rolled his eyes. He narrowed his eyes at a silhouette not too far from where they rode. “Wait, wait. Pause the carriage. Henri, stop. Henri!” His owner’s yell was enough to make the horse stop. Gaston fumbled around the bottom of the carriage, where he kept his bags, quiver, blunderbuss. He picked up a small telescope and peered. “Belle. That’s Belle.” He put it down again and snatched the reins from Agathe’s hands. “Come now, Henri. Giddyap!” He snapped the reins and Henri began galloping towards the girl. “Faster,” Gaston gritted. He noticed Belle turn around and put one hand up, waving. “Belle! I’m unarmed!”

“Agathe!,” she called, breaking into a smile.

 _Fantastic, I’m already dead and a ghost_ , Gaston thought to himself as Belle ignored him completely and kicked Phillipe into a gallop towards the carriage. “Belle,” he greeted, grinning.

She shot him a glare and turned to Agathe. “I haven’t thanked you enough for saving Adam,” she said, smiling warmly.

“It’s not a problem, at all. It was only my duty.”

Gaston murmured a “me too, friend” when Henri neighed, shaking his head. He glanced at Agathe and frowned, in shock. She no longer looked like the filthy hag that hanged around Villeneuve. She was now a woman, with flushed cheeks and bright yellow hair. “Alright,” he said. “Belle, I’m not here to harm anyone,” he told her. “I just want to know how LeFou is doing.”

“You mean after you left him for dead?”

Gaston frowned. “I did not leave him for dead.”

“Oh, you’ve got amnesia now.” Belle sighed. “You left LeFou for dead and he told me to tell you when I saw you that you were no longer _Le Duo_. He’s _Le Single_ now. Danced with a girl at our wedding, too.”

Gaston scoffed, hiding his hurt. “A woman? That’s impossible. LeFou is… a men man.”

“A men man?”

“He likes men,” Gaston explained.

“He seemed to have quite a fun time with her.”

“...Moving on.” Gaston sat up straighter. “How is he doing?”

“You should check for yourself. He’s by the tavern as always, it’s some good ten minutes from here. Though, of course you know that. You _did_ go there after leaving my father to the wolves. Or do you not remember that, as well?”

“I do,” Gaston muttered. He handed Agathe the reins and sat back, pulling up the crutch.

The rest of the trip was silent. Gaston felt something he had never felt before. Not during the war, not after. He felt guilt. A pit in his stomach and a heavy heart. He was beginning to remember the fateful night. Using LeFou as a human shield, Christ. What was he _thinking_? He must hate him now. Suddenly, a life in the woods didn’t seem too bad. He _was_ a terrific hunter, so food wouldn’t be a problem. And he’d have Agathe and Henri for company. Gaston sat up and nodded absently to himself. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

“We’re here,” Agathe said, as she stopped in front of the village gates.

Gaston was snapped out of his fantasy and gulped. He walked off the carriage and put his crutch under his arm. He gave Henri some pats on the neck, stroke the bridge of his nose, and walked into the village. Everyone was busy with their everyday lives, their everyday routine. Too busy to notice Gaston, their former leader, was back from the dead. He walked up to the tavern, his comfort place and second home. Gaston struggled with the stairs but eventually managed his way to the bar. “Two beers,” he ordered.

The little man in the corner of the bar mumbled something under his breath before turning around with two cups in each hand. He opened his mouth to name the price and instead let out some sort of yelp and let the cups fall to the floor.

Gaston grinned, excited. “LeFou! It’s me! It’s Gaston!” LeFou whined then stammered. Gaston’s grin dropped. “Are you alright?”

“You, you, you’re,” he stammered some more, eyes always on Gaston. “You’re… alive.” LeFou whispered the last word, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of course! No one can kill me, you know that, old friend.”

LeFou nodded, still smiling. He put an hand to Gaston’s arm tentatively and when he didn’t drew back as usual, he saw it as a nod to whatever he was about to do. Gaston frowned when LeFou hugged him. He hovered an arm over his back before settling it there, barely even touching him. Gaston felt… bad. How could LeFou be so happy to see him after all he’d done? “I missed you,” he heard him whisper.

“I missed you, too.”

The hug took a while and when LeFou stepped back, there were tears in his eyes. “It’s been terrible around here without you. Everyone missed you, including Jean,” LeFou told him, pronouncing Jean as ‘jeen’ like he always did to piss the potter off. “His wife and kid are back. And apparently Clothilde is _married_ , but I think her husband is gay,” he confided him as he picked up the cups and refilled them.

Gaston breathed out a laugh, taking his drinks from LeFou’s hands. LeFou managed to look adorable all the time, but even more so when he was gossiping with him about the villagers. Which only happened when he was drunk. Gaston eyed his friend’s face, noticing the dark circles and a slight flush. He was definitely drunk.

“And prince Adam has this dog, his name is Froufrou, and he is _adorable_ ,” he said from the ground as he cleaned up the spilled beer.

Gaston nodded, taking a swallow from his drink. “That’s nice.”

LeFou grinned at him. He wiped the bar with some quick, broad strokes.

“Huh, I saw Belle on my way here,” Gaston said, after finishing the first beer. He noticed LeFou’s grin fade away. “She, huh, mentioned something about her wedding.”

“Oh. It was nice, I guess,” LeFou said with a shrug. He put the rag down and crossed his arms on top of the bar. “Had good food, the songs were really pretty, and the castle is _huge_. But it wasn’t extraordinary or anything.”

Gaston smirked. “How could it have been? I wasn’t there,” he joked, starting the second beer.

LeFou laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, you were not.”

“Right, about that. About the wedding. How’s the girl you danced with? Hope she’s alright.”

“The… girl?,” LeFou said slowly, squinting. “Oh! She’s alright.”

Gaston nodded. “Where’re Tom, Dick and Stanley? Those three always hang out here.”

“Tom and Dick are trying to hunt. Emphasis on ‘trying’. No one hunts like you, Gaston.” He straightened up at the compliment. “And she’s Stanley no longer. Her name’s Mary. She’s working at the _fromagerie_.”

“The what?”

“...The cheese store, Gaston.”

Gaston widened his eyes in realization as he swallowed the drink, nodding.

“LeFou, love,” Gaston heard a soft, motherly voice call from behind him. He turned around and watched as the woman walked up to the bar. “How are you holding up?”

“ _Bonjour_ , Mrs. Potts. I’m much better, actually,” LeFou replied with a smile.

“I’ve told you, you can call me Beatrice.” She turned to Gaston. “Well, hello. Who are you?”

“Gaston.”

“Oh, _you_ ’re Gaston.”

“Yes, _I_ ’m Gaston. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s lovely but you can do better than this, LeFou,” she said before leaving.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Gaston was confused to the core. “What happened? Does she know about…” He trailed off, not knowing how to approach that night’s events. The mob, the deserting, the outright murder, the near death experience.

“Yeah,” he murmured in reply.

Gaston took a swallow from his drink, nearly finishing it, and spoke, “Listen, I’m… I’m…” He couldn’t get it out, he should have known. Gaston was too proud to ever admit he was wrong. Usually, he’d just ignore anyone who told him so, or deny it. He couldn’t do either of those things. What he had done was wrong and had very obviously hurt his closest and only friend. “Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What?”

LeFou was looking at him confused. Gaston sighed. “I said, I’m sorry. About everything. About… what I did to you. It wasn’t right, none of what I did was right. ...Except trying to kill the Beast.” LeFou scoffed. “He was a threat, LeFou!”

“To what? To who?”

“Us! Our very existence, our village!”

“Maybe your planned future with your little wife Belle, but Adam never did anything to hurt me or anyone else in Villeneuve.”

Gaston opened his mouth to protest. He wasn’t used to LeFou retaliating, he wasn’t used to _anyone_ retaliating for that matter.

“What? Are you gonna deny the fact you only wanted to kill him because Belle was in love with him? That, that you left me under a _goddamn_ _harpsichord_ just because you wanted this perfect life with her? You left me for dead, Gaston! Do you know how much that hurt?! You were…”

“I’m sorry. LeFou, I’m sorry.”

LeFou looked down. “You were my world and you left me. It was so hard to be against you when all my life I had been on your side. You had always been right, you had always been my hero.” LeFou was absently cleaning some cups, unable to look Gaston in the eyes. “And then you did all that. You snapped and I got scared, and you left me behind.”

“...How can I make it up? I’ll do anything... LeFou, look at me.” When he didn’t move an inch, Gaston put his hand to his chin and lifted it up so their eyes would meet. “What can I do?”

LeFou was obviously swooning, his eyes clouded, always focused on Gaston as if there was no one else in the entire tavern. “Never do that again,” he told him.

Gaston nodded. “I won't.”

“Promise me, Gaston.”

He never really learned from his mistakes, he thought as he ran his thumb over LeFou’s bottom lip. “I promise.”

LeFou looked at him for a while before nodding gently and pulling back.

Gaston finished his beer in two swigs and pushed the cup to LeFou. “Refill it, would you?”

“Seriously? You come back from the dead and the first thing you do is get drunk?”

Gaston frowned. “Actually, the first thing I did was get cursed.”

LeFou scoffed. “Wait, what?”

“Agathe cursed me.”

He laughed. “What?”

“Don’t laugh, I’m being serious!” Gaston protested. “She said something about four months and becoming a beast.”

“Of course she did. Agathe just goes around cursing random people now,” LeFou joked, handing him a beer.

“I am not joking.” Gaston walked up to Agathe with the help of the crutch that had been resting against the bar. He nodded over his shoulder to the bar and Agathe followed him.

“What happened to your leg?,” LeFou asked once Gaston was leaning over the bar.

“Nothing did. Agathe, tell him about the curse.”

LeFou interrupted her before she could even speak, waving his arms in front of him. “I don’t care! I don’t, care. What happened to your leg?,” he repeated.

“My ankle is hurt; it’s nothing too big.”

“I’m helping it heal,” Agathe reassured LeFou.

“...Okay,” he said, very obviously not convinced.

Gaston smirked. “What, are you concerned?”

“Of course, you’re my friend.”  He rolled his eyes at Gaston’s grin. “Shut up…”

“Gaston.” He turned around, meeting Dick and Tom. “We thought you was dead.”

“Don't try anything,” LeFou called from behind the bar.

“Try what? They're my friends.”

“Not since your stunt at the castle,” Tom told him.

“Is this because I fucked your wife?,” Gaston replied in total impulse.

LeFou hit his arm lightly. “Gaston!,” he scolded.

“You know, Gaston?,” Jean the potter said, uninvited to the conversation as usual. “I never liked you.”

“I know that,” he murmured.

“Let me talk!” Gaston scowled at the potter’s tone. How dared he speak like that to him, the most respected man in town? “I never liked you and I hate you now that you tried to kill my wife.”

“Your _wife_? I lead you all to kill a _beast_! Not your spouses!,” he spoke, as much to Jean as to the crowd gathered in the tavern.

“Gaston, let me handle this,” LeFou told him.

“What? No.”

“You could have got us killed!,” one said.

“You tried to kill the _prince_ ,” said another.

“My husband was in that castle!,” Clothilde called out. “We could have murdered him! And Jean's wife and kid!”

Gaston's jaw was clenched, his fists opening and closing by his sides.

“Gaston, don't do anything,” LeFou whispered.

He could feel the sting of tears. “I am your _leader_!,” he shouted, his rough voice echoing throughout the tavern, silencing everyone present. “Did I not save Villeneuve when those Portuguese marauders attacked us?! And when their country declared war on us?! Did I not save _your_ life, Jean?! Didn't you all agree with me that the Beast had to die?! Sure, I lead the way but none of you are in the right to accuse _me_ ! Every single one of you followed me! You were in your right to say no! Père Robert said no and stayed in Villeneuve and everyone could have done the same, but did you do it?! _Did you do it_?!,” he asked again. There were murmurs all around. “No, you did not!”

“Maybe not, but you still tried to kill Maurice,” the tavern keeper accused.

“You owe my father your life!,” Gaston shouted at him. “Were it not for him, you’d be buried up on the hillside beside him!” All these ungrateful people, Gaston could barely believe it.

The silence that spread across the tavern was interrupted by an old man’s voice. “You made LeFou lie to us about Maurice!”

Gaston felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t exactly prove the old man wrong.

“No, he did not,” LeFou said. “Stop attacking him! He saved all your lives during the war. He protected your homes, your families! And this is how you thank him? He made a mistake, we all did. There had to be a mob for him to lead and you were all in it. I was too. We all attacked and were attacked in the castle that night.”

“Is he making you do this?”

“What? Of course not! He's my friend, I'm just helping him.”

Gaston hid his smile behind his hand, pretending to be wiping the corner of his lip.

“Jean, you went with us too. You didn't know your family was there, and neither did Gaston. Same for you, Clothilde. _None_ of us knew.”

Gaston was almost impressed (okay, he was _definitely_ impressed) at the way LeFou was defending him.

“He left you under a piano!,” Clothilde yelled.

“Harpsichord,” corrected the baker, monsieur Gary.

“Shut up,” she replied.

“And he regrets it and has apologized to me,” LeFou told them.

“Why isn’t he apologizing to the rest of us, then?!”

“Because the staff attacking you was not his fault, and you attacking the staff wasn’t either! He apologized for what he did to me because it _was_ his fault, he did that. But he didn’t make you follow him to the castle.”

The crowd began murmuring between themselves again. LeFou walked back to behind the bar and Gaston turned around to face him. “Thank you,” he said after a moment of silence.

He shrugged. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”

“Still.”

Jean walked up to the bar throwing dirty coins on top of it for LeFou and giving Gaston equally dirty looks, making sure he’d shove him in the process of walking away. Gaston clenched his fists so he wouldn’t do anything to give any further reasoning to the villagers’ recent hatred towards him.

He turned to LeFou, empty cup in hand. “Can you…” Gaston blinked, trying to remember the word. The alcohol had already hit his brain, slowly but effective.

“Refill it?”

“Refill it,” Gaston repeated, nodding. He pulled a bench from nearby and sat down, once he could barely keep his legs from wobbling. He rested his cheek on his hand. “LeFou, you're the best.”

He heard him laugh nervously. “Hardly, Gaston.” He turned around and handed him the drink. “If I'm the best, what are you?”

Gaston blinked in thought. “I suppose you’re right. But you're just… Special. You're better than anyone else here.”

“Why? Because I saved you back there?,” he teased.

Gaston shook his head then took a swallow from his drink. “No. I mean, that too, I suppose. But there’s something else.” He watched, with somewhat of a double-vision, as LeFou handed Tom, or someone who looked suspiciously alike, two beers. “Your hair, huh, looks good.”

“What?”

“I said,” he paused for a bit, trying to form the sentence, “I said, your hair looks good like that.”

“Oh.” Even nearly hammered Gaston could notice him blush. “Thanks,” he said, tugging at the loose curls.

Gaston smiled drunkenly at him before finishing his drink. He waved the empty cup in front of LeFou who looked him dead in the eyes. “That’s your fourth, Gaston.”

“I know,” he said, the surprise clear in his voice. He couldn’t lie at all when drunk. “Come on, do a friend a favor.”

LeFou rolled his eyes. “How is getting you to pass out drunk a favor?”

Gaston narrowed his eyes. He let go of the cup and put his hand on top of LeFou’s slowly, his thumb rubbing circles over his knuckles. He blinked before looking up at LeFou, who was staring at a probably very interesting spot on the bar. “Look at me.”

LeFou gulped before doing as told. “Yes?”

Gaston smiled at him. “Please.” LeFou let out an unintelligible mix up of words. “Sorry?”

“I said, fine,” he replied more coherently.

Gaston smiled at him, putting the hand to his shoulder. “Thank you.” LeFou simply shook his head, turning to refill the drink. Gaston was halfway through the drink when he remembered something. “Have I, have I told you,” he slurred, “about that time… About that time I drank two whiskey bottles in a row? In the, war I mean.”

“Yes, you have. But tell again, I love your war stories, Gaston.”

Gaston sat up and cleared his throat. “So,” he started, his voice unconsciously loud enough for everyone in the tavern to hear. “There I was in the battlefield.” Gaston waved his hand in front of him as he always did when telling a war story. “Gun in hand, sword in sheath. And I’m, I'm fighting off the marauders with the help of my men, of course. When, suddenly, this _fucker_ decides to shoot me. I fall to the ground, bleeding out and cursing him. I don’t remember much besides you helping me to the doctor’s tent,” he said, speech still slurred but barely even noticeable thanks to the grandeur of the story. “So, this old man, he’s patching me up, trying to get the bullet out. And I keep yelling, I keep, _cursing_ him and the soldier. And so he goes, ‘Captain, I insist on you being still’,” he said, impersonating a posh accent when quoting the doctor. “And I say, ‘and I insist on you giving me a bottle of whiskey’. And he does, of course, I mean I’m the _captain_ , he has to do as I say. So I’m drinking the bottle and he says, ‘Captain, I believe that’s enough, sir’. And I just stop for a second and stare at him, and he starts removing the bullet again, correct? But I stop him. I go, ‘Get me another bottle and let me finish’.” Gaston paused as to finish his drink and his chest swole up when he noticed the people in the tavern had all hushed to listen to him, just like in the old days. He handed his cup over to LeFou who reluctantly refilled it. He took a sip and proceeded. “His assistant gets me another bottle, and I just snatch it off his hands because I’m done with the other. And the doctor goes, ‘Captain, I thought you were ready to go after that bottle’. And I look at him, dead in eye, LeFou. And you know what I say?”

“What?,” he asked, completely immersed in the story.

“‘I didn’t specify which bottle’!” He broke into laughter and chuckling quickly spread across the tavern. Back to normal. Halfway through his drink, his complex about not being a hero like he used to be hit him, and so Gaston pouted a little before finishing the beer. “LeFou,” he called.

“Yes, sir?”

“...What?”

LeFou stammered. “Yes, Gaston?”

Gaston blinked and narrowed his eyes. He'd have asked why on Earth he had just called him sir but he was definitely too drunk for that. “Do you… Do you like me? Do you think people, people like me?”

“Gaston, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “You're amazing. You're fantastic, incredible. No one hunts like you, or, or plays darts like you, or even sings like you. You know the people here like their songs and whenever it's a party night you're always there ready to belt a song, and they all sound so great.” Gaston smiled softly. “And, huh, you're the town's hero, Gaston. And always will be. You saved our town and you saved our lives, our homes.”

“I did, didn't I?,” he said, eyes closed and chin resting on top of his crossed arms.

“Yes, you did. We'd all be dead if it weren't for you. And that's not at all, even at the simplest tasks you're the best. Do you know anyone who can eat five dozen raw eggs besides you? Because I don't!” Gaston laughed, a coarse, slurred sound. “And you can get any girl you want.” His smile faded and LeFou clenched his fists. “You can have anyone for that matter.”

“Besides Belle.”

“Fuck her,” he said. “You have to move on, Gaston. There are plenty of other girls.”

“I don't,” Gaston said before staying silent for a bit, as if he were looking for the right words. “I don't want other girls. I want you.”

“...Sorry?”

“I want, I want you, LeFou. It's ridiculous, none of those girls would make me as happy as you do, my friend.”

“Alright, that’s enough beer for you,” LeFou joked, taking the cup away.

“I wasn’t done with that.”

“Yes. Yes, you were. Let’s get you home, now.”

“No, LeFou, I’m not… I’m not going home, I want to finish my beer.”

He stared at him before sighing and giving the cup back. Gaston finished it in a swig. “Now, we’re going.” LeFou spoke to someone — Gaston’s double vision was now more of a tunnel one and he could barely even see his own feet, let alone who LeFou was talking to — about ‘leaving’, a gentle hand on Gaston’s arm. “Easy there with the steps, Gaston.”

Gaston blinked, leaning on the wall as he tried his best not to trip on the stairs, each step oddly confident for someone in a drunken stupor. He pulled LeFou close to him once when they were out, the slightly colder air outside like knives on Gaston’s flushed face. “You are… You’re great. You’re the best,” he told LeFou, one hand on his cheek, the other pulling at his waistcoat lapel. “I love you so much.” Gaston blinked and squinted, trying to focus on LeFou’s face, which was starting to become a blur, although a now redden one. “So much. My friend,” he announced, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Since the war, at least.”

LeFou was silent for a bit. “We met before the war, Gaston.”

“...We did?” He moved his hand to the back of LeFou’s neck, playing with his hair. “Yes, we did! Children, yes?”

LeFou nodded, strained. “Yes, Gaston.”

“Well, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, period.” Gaston frowned when LeFou didn't reply. “Are you… Are you alright? LeFou?”

LeFou didn't speak for a while, eyes closed, appreciating the rare moment of intimacy and warmth.

“LeFou.”

His eyes flew open and he stammered. “Sorry. Yes, I'm… yes.”

Gaston nodded. “Good.” He patted LeFou on the cheek gently, smiling. His smile faded and his face turned a sickly shade of pink. Gaston leant against one of the pillars of the tavern and bent over, his body shaking and stomach convulsing as he coughed harshly and began emptying it. He absolutely _despised_ throwing up in front of anyone, even if it was someone as close to him as LeFou, who had already seen him at his weakest point. He despised it because, usually, after throwing up there'd be tears. Gasping for air, he wiped his mouth to a small handkerchief he kept in his jacket. The tears threatened to spill when he felt LeFou's ever comforting hand on his back, rubbing it with care.

“You're alright.”

Gaston clenched his jaw and straightened himself up the best he could, after all he had emptied his stomach not his drunkenness, stumbling to get to the fountain that stood in the middle of the poorly lit square.

LeFou sat beside him and wet his fingertips before running them gently over Gaston’s temples and forehead. “Let's go home.”

Gaston broke down crying and LeFou stared at him, completely at loss.

“Hey, hey, Gaston. It's alright. My house is a minute of walking, maximum.”

Gaston shook his head. “I'm not a hero anymore. I never was. I killed all those people. _Our_ people!”

“No, you did not. You killed the enemy in the battlefield and that is it.”

“For what?! For, for praise?!”

“To save Villeneuve! And you did it. This town would be nothing but ashes if it wasn't for you…” LeFou rubbed his arm tentatively. “How's your leg?”

“Too drunk,” he replied, before letting his head fall to the side, resting gently on LeFou’s shoulder. “You, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Hm? Tell what?”

“...That I cried.”

LeFou sighed. “No, Gaston. I promise I won’t.”

Gaston looked up and stared at the moon for a while. He got up slowly and LeFou was quick to follow and help him walk home. Gaston leaned against the wall that cradled the door as LeFou took a key out of his waistcoat pocket and turned it around in the door lock, opening the door. He put it on top of the small table he had near the door before helping Gaston to the couch. “LeFou,” he called just as LeFou walked upstairs.

“Yes, Gaston?,” he said, walking back down.

“Do you, huh, do you have whiskey?”

“You cannot be serious, right now.”

“What? It helps me, it helps me sleep.”

“You just threw up because of drinking, and you wanna drink more?!”

Gaston stumbled over to him, his ankle hurting again, and, leaning on the handrail, he ran his hand deliberately up LeFou’s arm to his cheek. He smiled at him and LeFou looked away. “Just one bottle. I'll go to, to sleep after.” He rubbed his thumb over LeFou's bright red cheek. He looked over at Gaston slowly, almost scared. “Please, old friend.”

LeFou wet his lips and they both spent minutes, maybe hours, staring into each other's eyes. Or lips rather, in LeFou's case. He couldn't help it, they looked inviting and Gaston looked stupid attractive when manipulating (like _he_ called it, LeFou knew deep down it was outright flirting) him. Alright, he looked stupid attractive all the time. “ _Fine_. Lie down, I'll get it.”

Gaston grinned and let out a drunken laugh. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, yes,” LeFou grumbled as he walked past him and into the kitchen. Gaston laid down, the smile still on his face, and closed his eyes. “Here you have it.” Gaston’s eyes flew open and he snatched the bottle from LeFou's hands, sitting up and opening it immediately, ready to pass out drunk. LeFou sat down next to him, so Gaston would be resting his head on his lap when he laid back down. Gaston did exactly that as he licked away a bit of whiskey that had escaped his lips.

“Want a bit?”

“No, I'm good.”

“LeFou, please. We need, we got to celebrate!”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes! I'm back from the dead!” LeFou sighed and Gaston looked up at him, his eyes clouded and heavy lidded. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “It was just… scary. Not having you around was scary,” he confessed, brushing some of Gaston’s hair strands back with care. “I missed you.”

Gaston smiled softly as he closed his eyes, completely and utterly drunk. “I, missed you too. You're my, my closest and dearest friend. And I love you, so much.” LeFou scoffed. “I _do_.” He drifted off to sleep almost immediately after those words left his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i s2g gastons last name is fucking legume its ridiculous some1 save him


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Bonjour_!” The word hit his brain so hard he felt it might explode. Gaston opened his eyes slowly, squinting. He groaned when he was met with an open window, the sun hitting his face, and turned around to face the back of the couch.

“ _Bonjour_ , Marie.”

“Good’ay,” he heard Marie reply with her cockney accent. “The usual two?”

“No, Gaston stayed the night, I’ll need four.”

She chuckled. “That’ll be… thirty five francs.”

“That’s expensive.”

“I know,” she murmured. “Beau’s been havin’ some problems with the bread, I don’t know wha’ it is.”

“Is he sick?”

“I’m not sure. Père Robert said he was just tired. But I know my husband.”

“...Here you have it. I hope he gets better soon.”

“Thank you, LeFou.”

Gaston heard the door shut and felt the unique smell of Beau’s Bakery’s bread. He peered over into the kitchen, where LeFou was now eating a piece of one of the baguettes and sliced another and some cheese. “G’morning, sleeping beauty.” All he got in reply were grunts. “I got you bread and cheese, and I’m about to boil some eggs,” LeFou told him, in an attempt to cheer him up.

“Why do they have to be so _loud_?,” he grumbled. “How hard is it to _not_ say good morning every time you see someone?”

“Well, I find it very hard,” LeFou said, setting the fire and placing a pot full of water above it. “They’re all our friends, Gaston, we have to be polite.”

“Jean isn’t.”

“Jean,” Gaston smiled at him mispronouncing his name, “is a dick. He’s just jealous of you,” he added with a shrug.

Gaston nodded. “Indeed.”

“I’m going to get you a glass of water.” Gaston didn’t say anything and let himself turn around, watching the fire silently as he heard water being slowly poured into a cup. He sat up once LeFou handed it to him. “How’s your head?”

“Doesn’t nearly hurt as much as my ankle, I’ll tell you that,” Gaston said before drinking the warm water.

“Agathe stopped by to leave your crutch. And Henri, he’s at the stable with my horse.”

He nodded. “Did she tell you about the curse?,” he asked, giving the cup back.

LeFou laughed. “Yes, about the, huh, true love stuff. That was ridiculous.”

“Don’t laugh! I’ll turn into a beast if I don’t find someone who loves me.” He frowned. “Actually, that won’t be too hard.”

“The hard part is you loving them back, I’m assuming.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m just not one for emotion, you know that.”

“Mhm.”

“You alright?”

LeFou shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Did I say something?”

“No, you didn’t do anything.” He walked to the pot and gently dropped two eggs into it, careful not to burn himself.

“She said it had to be true love and not just “simple awe and admiration”,” Gaston contemplated. “That might be harder. The townspeople have more of an… infatuation towards me, it's not really love.”

“The fact you know the difference really impresses me, Gaston.”

He scoffed. “I know the meaning of expectorating it's not like I'm an idiot.”

LeFou laughed.

“You know everyone in the village, do you think you know anyone who's in love with me?”

LeFou froze. He stammered, not looking away from the fire. “In love…? With you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think, but you, huh, you don't know him. Her. You don't know _her_.”

“It's a small village, LeFou,” he said, remembering the exact words Belle had told him when she had rejected him. “I know them _all_.”

“No. No, you do not.”

“What's his name?”

“ _Her_ ,” LeFou corrected, trying and failing to hide his embarrassment. “Her name is, huh… Jour…? Yes, Jour.”

Gaston frowned. "His name is Jour?"

“What? I told you, it’s a girl.” He laughed nervously and got up.

“Huh. That’s why you just made up a name on the spot.”

“I… I did not do such thing.”

“Jour.”

LeFou stammered. “I can’t speak on people having odd names. Lots of people have them!”

“Oh, so you met her at a, what, at a People With Odd Names club?”

“Shut up, Gaston.”

“I’m teasing,” he said, laughing. “No, seriously. I know it’s a man, that’s okay. Like I said I'm not an idiot. Who is it?” His smile dropped. “Is it Dick?”

“...Yes! Yes, it is. It’s Dick. He’s the one in love with you.”

“Oh, _Christ_. I can’t fall in love with Dick, he’s… ugly.”

“Oh, poor guy, Gaston,” LeFou said, walking into the kitchen. Gaston watched as he picked up a knife and began cutting two slices of boar meat. “It’s not his fault he’s in love with you. I mean, you’re just so… Strong and handsome and charming and passionate and… One of a kind.”

Gaston snorted. “Are you certain you’re not the one in love with me?,” he joked.

LeFou laughed with exaggerated emphasis. “Me?! No, no, we’re just friends. Best friends. Since childhood.” He had stopped cutting the meat by then.

“Yes. Yes, we are. Are you alright?”

“Yes, huh, do you want something to drink?”

Gaston’s worry faded away completely. “Yes, definitely. What do you have?”

“Brandy, whiskey and some red wine.”

“Brandy.”

“Are you sure? The wine is good.”

“Wine is a woman’s drink, LeFou.”

“Drinks have genders, now. It’s all alcohol, Gaston.”

“You don’t see a lot of men drinking wine.”

“Yes, yes I do. We’re French, wine is our thing.”

“I’m not French then, Christ.” He got up, limping over to the kitchen, his head spinning lightly. “Where’s the brandy?,” he asked, opening and closing cabinet doors.

“You do realize brandy is just distilled wine.”

“Dis... what?”

“Distilled wine. It’s stronger wine.”

Gaston closed the door slowly, eyes on LeFou. “Well, there you have it. It’s _stronger_ wine.”

LeFou rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Wine is for women,” he murmured, incredulous.

“It is,” Gaston insisted, pouring the brandy into a big metal cup. He drank it without pausing for a breath. “What?,” he asked when he noticed how LeFou was staring at him wide-eyed.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“So? I need fuel.”

“You’re only drinking one more, you need to start watching your drinking or else you’ll show up dead in the square,” LeFou told him as he walked into the living room, the two pieces of meat in hand.

Gaston scoffed. “I’ve been drinking ever since the war, and I haven’t died, LeFou.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want you pushing your luck.”

Gaston scoffed once more as he poured more brandy.

“Do you even remember anything that happened last night?,” LeFou asked, speaking over the sound of the boar’s meat roasting.

“Sure,” he lied, taking a swallow from his drink.

“Okay, well, what happened at the fountain?”

“At the… At the fountain?”

“Yes, Gaston.”

He stammered before drinking the remaining brandy and pouring some more. “I, we,” he said, putting the bottle down, “we sat down by the fountain and you told me you loved me...?”

“I don’t— I swear to God, Gaston. Don’t lie to me. Do you remember it or not?”

Gaston glanced over at him, drinking, looking away immediately when he saw LeFou glare at him. “Yes.”

“Gaston.”

“Alright! I don’t! I’m too fucking hangover for this shit!” He slammed the cup down, about to lose his temper. “My head’s about to explode because no one in this stupid village can keep their mouth shut for _one goddamn second_ and my leg is hurting like the Devil and so is my neck, and I was _cursed_!” He put an hand over his nose and mouth and took three deep breaths, reminding himself of LeFou’s usual words when he got angry. “I just… I, I need to drink, LeFou.”

“No, you don’t, hey.” LeFou stopped him from pouring any more brandy into the cup, his hand slowly dragging Gaston’s away from the bottle. “Hey, you don’t need to drink. You can talk to me,” he offered with a small smile.

Gaston scowled and looked away. “Talk about what? I can only open up when I’m drunk anyway,” he said, finishing his drink.

“Well, we can start slowly,” LeFou told him, his hand still on top of Gaston’s. “How about you tell me about the war? We were both there, it might help.”

Gaston shrugged. He walked back into the living room and lied down on the couch, one arm over his eyes. “The eggs are ready,” he told LeFou.

“Oh! Thank you.”

Gaston ate breakfast on the couch, and LeFou had dragged a chair to next to him so he could keep him company, two cups with whiskey near them. “It’s good. You’re a good cook.”

LeFou smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“You should charge for this.”

He laughed. “I’m not _that_ good. It’s not like I’m working at the castle.”

“You should be.”

“Well, I don’t want to, Gaston. You’d be dead without me,” he joked.

Gaston stopped chewing for a while. LeFou wasn’t exactly lying. Going back to eating, he began thinking about all the times LeFou had actually saved his life. There had been that time he had nearly eaten poisonous berries, but LeFou had been smart enough to recognize them. And then when the boys were attacked by a wolf and LeFou had hurt him with a stick enough to let them escape back to Villeneuve. And, of course, all the countless times during the War. Like, for example, when Gaston would have been impaled were it not for LeFou’s warning cry. Or when he would have bled out on the battlefield if LeFou hadn’t risked his life for him, pulling him back to the camp. Yes, he’d definitely be dead without him.

“Gaston?”

“Yes? Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Oh. Boar for your thoughts?,” he joked, putting one of the slices of meat on Gaston’s plate.

Gaston shrugged. “You just… You’ve saved my life so many times. And my payback was leaving you under a fucking piano,” he said, stabbing the meat with his dagger and taking a bite.

“What’s past is past,” LeFou said with a shrug. “I forgive you.”

Gaston hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast since he was a teenager, more specifically when he found out he might have had _feelings_ towards his closest friend. He froze for a second, staring at LeFou, wondering if said feelings had come back. Maybe they hadn’t even left at all. Gaston frowned and finished his egg.

“You’re growing a beard.”

Gaston groaned. “Christ, I got to trim it.”

“Prince Adam’s got one. It’s weird.”

“What _doesn’t_ he have? He’s a prince.”

“...Are you seriously jealous of the prince, Gaston? You’re the richest guy in Villeneuve.”

“After _him_!”

LeFou shook his head with a smile. “You're incredible, Gaston.”

“I know,” he sighed. After a while, he spoke again. “I miss it. The thrill of when I managed to kill one of them.”

“The war?”

“In its way, yes.” He took another bite from the roast boar. “Just miss being in charge, and killing and…”

“The danger?,” LeFou finished for him.

“Yes. The rush.”

LeFou nodded. “How about we go hunt today?”

“Hunting trip?”

“For the weekend, yes,” he replied with a smile.

“I like it.”

LeFou's smile widened. “I thought you would.”

They left later that day, riding off out of the village just as the church’s clock struck five o’clock. Gaston was feeling much better. He had spent the entire time packing talking to LeFou, telling him stories of his hunting, as if he hadn’t been beside him all those times. He acted like it when Gaston spoke, nodding and gasping, and whispering small “wow”s and “woah”s.

“And, of course,” said Gaston as they rode up the hill and into the forest that surrounded Villeneuve, “there was that time I helped my father hunt a wolf.”

“Ooh! How did you do it, Gaston?”

“The old shooting from behind trick, my friend. It was actually the day I learned it.”

“Well, what’re the details? You know, it’s the details that paint the picture,” he said with a wise tone, making Gaston smile.

“Yes, I know.” He took an intake of breath, the smell of wet grass all around him. It was one of his favorite smells, it brought him back to his childhood. “It was early Spring when we left, I had just turned sixteen. You remember that, of course.” He looked over at LeFou, who nodded, eyes always on Gaston. Satisfied, Gaston looked back to the path in front of them. “My father was riding this beautiful stallion right here,” he said, running his hand over Henri’s neck. “And I rode a smaller white one, I believe his name was Louis.”

“A question.”

“Yes?”

“Did your family just name your horses after the kings of France?”

Gaston knew LeFou was just teasing him but it still made him stop for a bit and wonder. “Yes, I think we did, in fact. My grandfather loved the monarchy. Or he did until he ended up in Villeneuve. But that’s a story for another time,” Gaston told him.LeFou simply nodded. “Where was I? Ah, yes. We stayed in these very woods for about three days. By the ending of the last day, with about four ducks, a doe and two deers, my father was hunting a third one when he heard some noises. I was near him, of course, he intended to show me said trick. We’re aiming at the deer, him with his blunderbuss, me with this lovely little pistol,” he said, showing off the flintlock pistol he kept beside him at all times. Gaston put it back and proceeded with his story, trying his best to ignore the fact they were getting closer and closer to his childhood home. “And, so, he hears some noise. And, out of the blue, a grey blur takes down our target. My father is _pissed_ , of course. So, he tells me to follow him and I do. We’re behind the wolf now, as he feasts on the deer’s flesh. He’s got blood all over his jaw, his fur, drool dropping onto the grass as well as some small pieces of the deer’s meat. If I hadn’t been used to it, my stomach would have been empty by then. But I was. I was used to it, and so my father showed it to me. He aimed,” Gaston said, aiming at an invisible target, “right for the liver. And,” he pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting a bird, “the wolf fell to the ground, bleeding.”

“Woah,” LeFou sighed, swooning.

Gaston smirked at him, but it soon faded when they rode past the destroyed home. He looked at it, remembering how he found it. The day the marauders entered Villeneuve. The day he lost his father, his sister, his grandfather, his dog. Everyone and everything that he held so dear, gone. Well, except for his mother and LeFou. But his mother had passed away in the war, fatally wounded by some fucking Portuguese piece of shit. All he had now was LeFou. Gaston looked away, feeling the tears sting his eyes.

“Are you alright?,” LeFou asked, obviously concerned.

“Of course,” he said, trying his best to pretend his voice hadn’t cracked. He gave him a tentative smile, despite knowing it’d take more to fool his friend. “I’m always alright.”

“I know it makes you upset.”

“Shut up,” he murmured. LeFou did just that. He knew perfectly well pushing it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Gaston would either yell at him for trying to get past that wall he had built around him and his feelings, or ignore him for the same reason.

The talking only return when they were already deep in the forest, heading to Gaston’s favorite spot — a clearing near a lake both men would go to when they were children. “Remember our first hunting trip by ourselves?,” asked LeFou. He was sure this kind of conversation would help cheer Gaston up.

And right he was, Gaston smiled almost immediately. “Yes, it was fun. We were, what? Fifteen?”

“I think so. It was nice. We camped here,” LeFou said, climbing off his smaller horse and getting the tent off its back. “And then you took a bath while I prepared the fire, and you hunted us dinner, and in the next day you taught me how to hunt ducks.”

Gaston had climbed off his horse and was now leaning against him, listening to LeFou with a smile. “You learned quickly.”

“You're a good teacher,” he told him.

Gaston’s chest swell up with the praise. “I know.” He turned around and began taking off his weapons. He didn't tell him but Gaston loved the hunting trips more than he loved the actual hunting. Of course, it was his favorite hobby and his main source of income, and the thrill and satisfaction he got when he killed surpassed many of his other emotions. However, none of that compared to LeFou's praise or cooking. Or simply the time they spent together before falling asleep, LeFou reminding him of his greatest doings and remarking to him just how _absolutely gorgeous_ he was after a few drinks, and then the comfortable silence their tent fell into before soft snores broke it.

Gaston loaded the guns and checked his quiver. “We have enough for two, three days,” he told LeFou, walking to the lake and kicking off his boots and socks. He folded his breeches upwards, leaving part of his shins bare, and put his feet in the water, yelping a little at how cold it was. It began feeling weirdly relaxing and Gaston laid back with a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes. “But let's relax for today,” he said. “We can hunt first thing tomorrow morning.”

LeFou hummed softly. “Sounds like a great idea.” Gaston smiled proudly at the compliment. “But then again,” LeFou added, “when _aren't_ your ideas great?”

Gaston laughed. “Very true, my friend.”

“I never noticed you had fangs,” he commented, and Gaston noticed he was closer to him than before.

Gaston frowned and popped one eye open. “I don't.”

“Huh, yes, you do.”

Gaston opened the other eye and sat up to look down at his reflection. He grinned, or rather grimaced, and frowned in shock. There they were, sharp canines Gaston hadn't known the existence of during his whole life. “That's just odd,” he said, laying back down.

“I like them,” said LeFou with a shrug.

“What _don't_ you like about me?,” Gaston laughed. LeFou rolled his eyes but Gaston's grin didn't fade one inch. “Am I lying?”

“...No.”

“Exactly.” After a moment of silence, LeFou joining him by the lake, dangling his feet and humming some song the townspeople sang during parties, and Gaston looking at the clear blue sky above them, watching the birds flying around, Gaston spoke again. “May I ask for a favor?”

“Anything, Gaston.”

He took in a breath. “Do you think you can fall in love with me?,” he asked, without looking away from the sky. “I just don't want to fall in love with Dick.” _Or anyone else for that matter_.

LeFou stammered, drawing Gaston’s attention to him. “I, huh… And you want, you want to fall in love with _me_?”

Gaston shrugged, albeit limitedly. “It’d be easier.” He held back a scoff when LeFou sighed dreamily, swooning, a smile from ear to ear on his face. “Are you alright?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he sighed.

“Hm. Glad you proved me right when I said you were the one in love with me,” Gaston teased, although only half joking. He had been suspicious of LeFou's affections towards him for some time now but he never had confirmation on them, and, honest to God, never knew if he wanted said confirmation. It had taken years for Gaston to accept his feelings towards LeFou and seconds for him to repress them all again.

“Oh, shut up,” LeFou said, interrupting Gaston's train of thought. “I'm not in _love_ with you, I just admire you a lot like everyone else in Villeneuve.”

“Like everyone else in Villeneuve,” Gaston repeated. “Because everyone else in Villeneuve stares at my mouth when I talk.”

“I don't,” he started, his cheeks starting to flush, “I don't stare at your mouth.”

“You really think I don't notice that? Come now, LeFou, I'm not an idiot.”

“I do not.”

“Alright, what about this: no one else looks at me with as much admiration and awe as you do. And no one swoons like _you_ do when I touch them. Or just talk to them, you’re that easy.”

LeFou stammered again, looking down. “That's a lie, a lot of the girls you go to bed with swoon.”

“Not like you. They are… exaggerated. You, though, my friend? You're genuine. You mean it.”

LeFou kept staring at Gaston, eyes heavy lidded and with a stupid smile.

“See?”

He didn’t speak, not until Gaston sprinkled his face his cold water from the lake. “Jesus,” he mumbled.

“As I was saying,” Gaston said, wiping his hand to his breeches, “you’re in love with me.”

“Excuse you, I think I know my own feelings very well, monsieur Gaston” LeFou protested, despite being blushing and shaking ever so slightly.

Gaston chortled. “Alright. I’ll remember that, _monsieur LeFou_ ,” he said, mocking him and his high pitched voice.

LeFou stared at him, looking offended, before hitting him on the shoulder. “Fuck you.” Gaston repeated the mockery only to get mocked back. “Oh, you wanna go down that road? Alright.” LeFou cleared his throat and Gaston looked over at him, curious and amused. “'Oh, I'm Gaston and I'm _so_ strong’,” he said, making fun of his friend deep voice. “'I fucked your wife and your wife and _your_ wife. All that because I eat four dozen eggs every goddamn mornin’.’”

Gaston stared at him, motionless. A small smile began spreading across his face before he broke into laughter, loud. “I do _not_ talk like that! Also, your accent is terrible.”

“Wha’ you mea’s terrible?,” LeFou asked in the same faux cockney accent he had used to mock Gaston.

Gaston laughed. He felt as if he were thirteen again, running through the forest with LeFou following behind, yelling for him to slow down, his father on horseback behind them both, laughing. It felt good, being far away from Villeneuve. When he was away he didn’t have to prove his strength or wits, or anything for that matter, to everyone else. It was just him and LeFou, and of course LeFou knew Gaston was perfect in every way possible. He didn’t have to break a log in half, or save someone from a fallen carriage, or anything to prove himself.

“You’re amazing,” LeFou told him, interrupting his train of thought once again. His voice was soft, and he had dropped the godawful accent. Gaston took in a breath, looking at him with a soft smile, before it turned into a proud smirk and he looked away.

“I know,” he sighed. The smirk dropped when he heard a sound. Far away, something that sounded like growls, a howl and whimpers. Gaston sat upright, frowning. “Did you hear that?”

LeFou frowned as well and shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Gaston got up to his feet and walked over to Henri, who was lying on the grass, eating some of it. He withdrew a handful of arrows from his quiver and his crossbow.

“Gaston? Where are you going?” He called again from near the lake when Gaston didn’t reply, simply stalked forward, naked feet on green grass. “Gaston!?”

Gaston shushed him, barely even turning his head behind, eyes always on whatever it was he was about to hunt. “Stay here,” was all he said. LeFou did the exact opposite. He disliked disobeying Gaston, sure, but his friend’s well-being and _life_ were more important than the fear of being reprimanded, and so he was quick to follow him. “I told you to stay there,” Gaston protested in a hiss once he noticed LeFou by his side.

“And leave you to be eaten by what I’m assuming is a _wolf_?,” he said, as if Gaston had told him the most ridiculous thing he had heard, pronouncing the last word very carefully. He scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so. ...I lost you once, I can’t lose you again,” he added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gaston exhaled and loaded the crossbow with one of the arrows that were stocked on the side of his breeches. He frowned more, a muscle above his eyebrow twitching lightly. He could smell something metallic. “Blood,” he whispered.

“What— Gaston!,” LeFou called when his friend began running towards the target.

Gaston ducked behind a bush, aiming for the liver of the wolf. He let out a growl, something unconscious he didn’t realize had slipped out of his lips until the wolf turned around, mouth bloody, and growled back. Gaston shot immediately and dropped the crossbow, taking his hunting dagger from his pocket and stabbing the wolf in the jaw and neck and, quite frankly, anywhere he could stuck the blade in. All while letting feral growls the wolf retributed. It began whining and Gaston threw him away, hands and forearms drenched in blood.

“Ga— Oh, Christ.” The tone had been almost scolding at first, but then turned into something much weaker. LeFou stepped forward and put his hands to the wounds of the woman beside them. “Mary, stay with us, alright?”

She nodded weakly, her cheeks tainted with tears and runny makeup. “Thank you,” she whispered.

LeFou hushed her. “Don’t talk.” He turned to Gaston, who was grimacing at the woolf, bearing his fangs in a threatening fashion, making the wolf whimper and walk away. He was out of breath, his chest heaving quickly under his shirt. “Gaston?”

Gaston snapped, looked at him with such a fire in his eyes, LeFou would have stepped back were he not kneeling and trying to save a woman’s life. Gaston blinked, took a deep breath and said, “I apologize, I don’t… I don’t know what overcame me.”

“It’s alright. Do you think you can save her?”

Gaston glanced at Mary, who was convulsion under LeFou’s touch, a tinge of blood on the corner of her mouth, tears in her eyes. “I might,” he said, trying so _hard_ to ignore the intoxicating smell of blood. He looked down at the pool of blood forming under LeFou’s hands and wet his lips.

“Gaston? Are you alright?”

He nodded, closing his eyes and flexing his fists. “Yes. I’ll go get Agathe, I’m sure she can help.” His ankle was completely cured by now, so he didn’t exactly have any trouble walking around, looking for Agathe’s home. He felt it was near, his instinct was telling him so and it was rarely wrong. He did find her, preparing what Gaston assumed, perhaps wrongly so, to be a potion.

“Monsieur Gaston,” Agathe said, her back turned to him, with a slight accent. She turned around, still the beautiful woman she had become halfway on their trip to Villeneuve.

“A woman is hurt,” he told her. “A wolf attacked her. I managed to harm him and he ran but she is injured pretty badly, I’m not sure if she can survive without a little bit of… help.”

Agathe nodded. She eyed Gaston’s hands. “From the fight?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Has the curse already begun?,” he asked, immobile.

She nodded gently. Gaston sighed and they walked back to where he had left LeFou and Mary.

“Gaston, thank God,” LeFou said when he saw him arrive. “She isn’t doing so great,” he said, clearly meaning she was nearer to death than when he left. “I tried my best.”

Gaston moved to put a hand to his shoulder, stopping when he realized it was bloodied. “I’m sure you did.”

LeFou glanced at the blood on his friend's hands. He got up and turned to Agathe. “I'm going to help him wash this off, please try and save Mary.”

Agathe smiled and nodded. “She'll be good as new.”

Gaston followed LeFou to the lake, the way back seemingly much longer than before. They sat down by it and LeFou took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. He wet it and began wiping the blood off Gaston’s arms and hands. “Did it hurt you?”

“What did?”

LeFou looked up at him. “The wolf.”

“No. It seemed scared, actually. Threatened.”

“You're so incredible you threaten wolves,” LeFou said with a smile.

Gaston, however, didn't laugh. “LeFou, I'm serious. It was odd. That was what I'm assuming is the alpha. They don't just… run away. I mean, he did fight back but… They don't usually growl like that.”

LeFou hummed, focused on wiping the gruesome sight off Gaston's left forearm. “Gaston, are you sure you're okay?”

Gaston let out a shallow breath. “The curse began. And I…” He wet his lips, looking over at the lake. He looked back to LeFou and continued. “I have this urge. I feel empty and I have this urge to just…” He sneered as he spoke the words that followed. “To just tear everything to fucking _pieces_.”

LeFou looked up at him, worried. “More than usual?,” he tried to joke.

Gaston had tears in his eyes and clenched his jaw. “It's not safe for you.”

“So wasn't the war, and I survived that.”

“LeFou, I mean it. I don't want, I don't want to hurt you. Not again. I've already caused you too much pain, I—”

“Gaston,” he interrupted him. He put an hand to his cheek just like Gaston did to him when he got too upset. “You'll be okay. We can get the spell to break.”

“How? I need to love back whoever loves _me_.”

“I can… I can do what you asked me. Fall in love with you.”

Gaston frowned and shook his head. “No. No, I can't make you do that.”

“I want to.”

“LeFou, you don't just _pick_ who you want to fall in love with.”

“I know, I'm not an idiot,” he replied, withdrawing his hand.

“Then how are you supposed to fall for me?”

LeFou stared at Gaston for a while before shrugging and looking down to his hands. He rubbed the blood off harder, making Gaston hiss. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He was clearly upset and Gaston frowned, wondering what he could do to help.

“It’s alright. It didn’t hurt, really.”

“...Look, I’ve been waiting for the ‘right moment’ to tell you about, hum…” He swallowed and scratched his neck with his free hand. “God, how do I say this?”

Gaston frowned. “I’m not following you.”

“Yeah, obviously. If you were, I wouldn’t be here trying to tell you this,” LeFou joked. “I have… _Preferences_ ,” he said carefully.

“Oh! Oh. I know, you're a men man,” Gaston said, nodding.

LeFou laughed. “Yes. Yes, I'm a men man.” He took a breath, wiping Gaston's hands in such a way he was almost holding them. “I, huh,” he started, stuttering and shaking a little. Gaston frowned slightly, noticing the light pink on LeFou's cheeks. “Okay, I, ever since we were kids,” he continued, only to be interrupted by barks that, when closer, turned into growls. “Oh, hey, little fellow,” LeFou greeted the seemingly wild dog, which kept barking and growling. “He doesn't seem very friendly.”

Gaston could barely hear him, LeFou's voice distant, muffled by the dog's growls at _him_. He felt his blood boil, his breathing slow down.

“Gaston, hey.” He put a hand to Gaston's sleeve. “Gaston.”

He tried to get rid of LeFou's grip, which only tightened. “Let me go.”

“No.”

Gaston glared at him before turning his gaze to the dog. It was small, yes, but its growls were beginning to irritate Gaston beyond belief.

“Froufrou, there you are!,” he heard a childish voice call. “Why are you growling?” The boy picked Froufrou up to hold him close to his chest and looked over at Gaston. “Sir, you're scaring my dog.”

“He was the one growling at me!”

“Gaston,” LeFou scolded. “Chip, I'm sorry about him, he's not feeling great.”

“I feel _fine_.”

“He's dealing with one of Agathe’s curses,” LeFou explained further.

Chip nodded. “Still, it's no excuse to scare Froufrou.”

“Of course not. Gaston, apologize.”

Gaston let out a breath. “I'm sorry for scaring your dog.”

“Thank you,” Chip said before walking away.

“That was a child,” he said, letting Gaston go.

Gaston was silent, unsure of what to say.  It was as if his animalistic instincts were taking the best of him. “I know.”

“You could have hurt a _child_.”

“I know! That's why I said it's dangerous. If I'm capable of hurting a seven year old, what am I capable of doing to _you_?”

LeFou stared at him before shrugging. “I don't know, but I'm not leaving your side. You could seriously harm yourself or get in trouble with the law.”

“Then why don't you leave me to it?! Why do you have to keep an eye on me?!”

“Because I'm your friend and I care for you!”

Gaston opened his mouth to retaliate but found himself out of arguments. His hands still had smeared blood and he moved to lick it off.

“Stop doing that.”

“Why?”

“You're drinking blood, I doubt that's healthy.”

Gaston put down his hands and LeFou finished cleaning them up. “I don't want you hurt.”

“I won't be hurt.”

“You don't know that.”

“And you don't know you'll hurt me.”

“There's a high chance I will. I almost gutted that boy.”

“And why didn't you do it?,” he asked without looking up.

“Because you stopped me. ...Oh.”

“Exactly. Like I said, Gaston, you'd be dead without me.”

Gaston sighed. “So much for relaxation, huh?”

LeFou laughed. “I suppose. It's not even evening, though, we still have a lot of time for ‘ _relaxation_ ’.”

“Gaston,” he heard a voice call. He turned to see a healed Mary walking up to him. “Thank you for getting help. And thank you, LeFou, for staying by my side.”

LeFou smiled at her. “It's nothing you wouldn't do for us, I'm sure.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Despite what you pulled before, you've shown you're still a respectable hero,” she told Gaston. He nodded with a soft smile that barely reached his eyes. He liked the praise, obviously, he _was_ Gaston. But there was something about having nearly hurt a child and being called a hero after that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Mary's face lit up and she handed both men a small sack of vegetables. “As a thank you.”

“Thank _you_ , Mary. We'll see you in Villeneuve.”

She nodded, waved them goodbye, and walked away.

Gaston scoffed as he wiped his now cleaned hands to his breeches. “Imagine being called a hero after almost killing a child.”

“Did you hurt him?” LeFou picked Gaston's sack up and walked to his horse, to put both away.

“No.”

"Then it's okay, Gaston. Trust me." He walked up to Gaston and put a hand to his hair, petting gently.

"What did you want to tell me before we were interrupted?"

LeFou froze, the hand on Gaston's hair stopping. "Sorry?"

"It was about your preferences and when we were children."

LeFou sat down by Gaston and nodded. "Right... Right."

"Well, then?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he shrugged it off. He put his hand on Gaston's thigh and gave him a tight smile. "So! Beer?"

Gaston forgot about the subject immediately. "Yes, please."

LeFou got up with a sigh and walked to his horse.

Gaston looked over at him. "LeFou," he called.

"What is it?"

"If... If I ever hurt you, I want you to know I don't mean it," he told him. "I care for you," he added with an oddly soft smile.

LeFou smiled widely until he was grinning. "I care for you too."

Gaston took in a breath and looked away.

Maybe the curse wouldn't have to last four months. Maybe it could last two. Maybe even less.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was cool but not too much, and they didn’t exactly feel cold thanks to the beer and grog LeFou had brought.

Gaston let out a hysterical laugh, LeFou chortling beside him. “You’re going to be the death of me, my friend,” he said with a sigh.

“Alright, now it’s _your_ time to tell me something funny.”

Gaston nodded. He doubted he could top LeFou’s story of being named like _that_ — his father had suggested it as a joke and his mother had thought it was perfect. “Alright. You know Jeanette, yes?”

LeFou’s grin faded into a bitter smirk and he drank from his flask. “Tom’s wife, ‘course I do.”

“Well, you know we went to bed once.” He sat up and took a swallow from his drink. “Now I’m going to tell you the worst thing.”

LeFou snorted and nodded.

“Once when I was a lad, I went to my mother to the fountain. I used to go there while Marie was with Belle. And I’m doing the laundry—” LeFou interrupted him with laughter. “That’s not even the funny part!”

“I’m sorry!,” he said, laughing. “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry but…” He wheezed. “Manly Gaston doing the laundry is the _funniest_ thing I’ve ever heard!”

Gaston slapped his leg playfully. “Will you let me finish?”

LeFou nodded, muffling his laughter.

Gaston was now smiling, LeFou’s cackles too contagious. “Alright. So, I’m doing the laundry, and these four girls come up to me. The triplets and then this other one. And they go ‘oh, what are you doing here?’,” he said, quoting the girls in a poorly done falsetto, getting more stifled laughter from LeFou. “And I say, ‘I’m doing the laundry, obviously’. And one of the triplets, I think Eloise, asked me why I wasn’t hunting with my father and I told her it’s because it was dangerous because of the wolves. And Elaine, I think, goes ‘you’re such a coward’.” LeFou had stopped laughing and was now paying complete attention to the story. “And I tell her, ‘maybe so but at least I don’t use ten pounds of makeup on my face!’” LeFou chuckled and Gaston smiled. He cleared his throat and proceeded. “And my mother scolds me and calls my name. And this girl, who was with the triplets but completely silent during the entire thing, laughs and goes ‘Your name’s _Gaston_?!’ And I’m annoyed, I mean, Gaston’s a good name.”

“It’s the _best_ name.”

“Thank you! And I say yes and go ‘what's _your_ name?! Jeanette?!’”

“Oh, God,” LeFou murmured.

“And she looks me in the eye and says, word by word, ‘as a matter of fact, yes it is’.”

“No…”

Gaston nodded slowly. “I knew her from when we were children. But, this is the funniest and possibly the worst thing: I didn't know it was her until a few months ago.”

LeFou looked at him, incredulous. “You… You didn't know? How many Jeanettes do you even know?!”

“I don't know!” Gaston finished his drink and put the flask down. “And I'm pretty sure she knew who _I_ was!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“...That was funny.”

LeFou shrugged. “I just don't like… I don't like hearing about your ‘encounters’.”

Gaston smirked. “Why's that?”

“No reason.”

“Does jealousy _not_ count as a reason?”

LeFou stared at him. “I'm not jealous.”

Gaston snorted. “Sure you’re not. Anyway, how late is it, my friend?”

LeFou took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat. “Eight forty-five.”

“Time for dinner,” Gaston announced. “Shall I hunt us something?”

LeFou shook his head, getting up. “I bought meat at the market earlier. It should be enough for tonight.”

Gaston nodded and watched as LeFou prepared dinner. He sighed contently and hummed when the smell of roasted meat began spreading across the air. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

Gaston grinned at the reply. “Now, _that_ ’s why I like you so much, LeFou.”

He laughed. “Dinner is _served_.”

They ate by the fire, LeFou humming some song popular amongst the villagers. Gaston lied on the floor, back against the log LeFou was sat on. He watched him under the moonlight, the fire illuminating his features. Gaston realized he loved the thrill of hunting and the calm before it equally. He loved shooting, the sound his prey made when it hit the ground, the smell of blood, the aftermath when he tied the animal to the back of his horse. And he loved LeFou, he loved his jokes, the little gap between his front teeth, his laugh, the way he— Oh, Christ.

“Gaston, is everything okay? You’ve been awful quiet.”

He nodded, looking away from him. Gaston moved a hand to play absently with his hunting dagger, eyes always on the fire.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I was just thinking, it’s nothing to worry about, my friend,” he said, giving LeFou a smile.

“Okay… Just, tell me if you need anything.”

Gaston shrugged. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, getting up and walking into the tent, leaving a very confused and worried LeFou by the fire.

 

When he woke up, he was in a clearing. His mouth and fingers were wet and he was out of breath. The air stank of death. Gaston looked down, squinting at the sunlight, only to find a bloody carcass of a deer. His hands were drenched in blood and so was his shirt.

Gaston licked the blood off his lips and almost moaned. It tasted… good. He moved to rip a piece of deer meat from its chest and took a bite. The raw meat tasted even better, the blood dripping off his chin and onto the already blood stained grass.

Gaston didn’t really care about how he got there, he didn’t care about how the deer died, he didn’t care that he had been feeding off a dead deer while possibly unconscious. All that mattered was he was feeding for what seemed to be the first time in _centuries_. He growled as tore more pieces off with his bare teeth, the newly found sharp canines a great help.

Gaston was curved over the carcass as if he were some kind of wild predator, the flesh on his mouth deliciously bloody, warm and moist.

“Gaston?”

He snapped to look at who had called him, pupils blown and mouth a gruesome sight. He growled without thinking, afraid whoever was near was there to steal his prey.

“Gaston.”

They sounded scared. Gaston’s chest heaved and his head reeled. Impulsively, he jumped over to the person near him, only to get kicked in the stomach and thrown against a nearby tree.

“Oh, Christ! I’m so sorry! Gaston, I’m sorry!”

The panicked voice was enough to knock Gaston out of his animalistic transe. He blinked and looked around. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the half-eaten deer. He could still feel its taste on his tongue. Addictive but oh so _disgusting_. He looked up at LeFou. His shoulders dropped in relief; he didn’t seem hurt. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, to kick you. I just got scared.”

“No, it’s alright,” Gaston said as he got up to his feet. He undressed his shirt to wipe the blood off of his face and arms. “You’re not hurt, that’s what’s important.”

“...Were you eating it?”

Gaston clenched his jaw and balled the shirt up. “Yes.”

“It’s just the curse, right?”

“I think so… Did you hear me leave the tent at night?”

“No. I just heard some growls a few minutes ago and followed them. Why?”

Gaston frowned. “I don’t remember getting here.”

LeFou’s eyes widened. “I, I think I know what Agathe turned you into. We need to talk to Père Robert, though.”

“I know what she turned me into. A beast. She said so herself, LeFou.”

“I mean, I suppose. But it’s a specific beast. I can’t remember how to pronounce it,” he murmured the last part.

“Well, we came here to hunt, not make speculations about what kind of beast I am.”

“You’re… You’re not a beast, that’s not what I meant.”

“I mean, clearly I _am_! I ate a fucking raw deer, LeFou!”

LeFou shrunk slightly when his friend yelled but he pulled himself together quickly. “That doesn’t mean you’re a monster or anything. You just gave into your instincts one time because of the curse.”

“Well, what if I can’t avoid it next time? What if I just keep being in that… stupor and I hurt you?!”

“We, we just have to break the curse! It can’t be that hard! You’re loved by everyone in the village—”

“She said _true love_!”

“Well, I love you!”

Gaston’s sneer turned into astonishment. “What?”

LeFou was perplexed by his own action. He stood paralyzed before looking up at Gaston. “As a brother. As a really close friend, is what I meant.”

Gaston doubted it with all his heart. The worst of it all was the very possibility of Gaston feeling the same. He cleared his throat. “Moving on,” he said. “Do you want to go back to Villeneuve now?”

LeFou was speechless. He shrugged.

“Are you alright?”

“Let’s go,” he said, turning around.

The trip to Villeneuve made Gaston feel a pit in his stomach. LeFou rode his horse behind him without a word, something completely unusual for him. He had hurt him. “LeFou,” he called, slowing his horse down to ride next to his friend. “I apologize for ignoring your… Confession that way.”

“I'm not mad.”

Gaston glanced at him. He was frowning and seemed to have been crying. “Maybe not, but you're hurt. And I don't want my friend hurt.”

“Let's just…” LeFou ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Leave it behind, alright? Obviously, it won't work for the curse, else you wouldn't have killed a deer and _fed_ off of it.”

“We don't know. Like I said, you're easy to love.”

The frown faded from LeFou's face. “You what?”

“Yesterday, I told you.”

“You said it'd be easier to fall in love with me.”

Gaston inhaled and raised his eyebrows. He puckered his lips and said, “Same thing.”

LeFou smiled and squinted in that way Gaston absolutely loved, making him smile as well. The town’s gates opened in front of them and Gaston’s smile turned into the usual smug smirk, his posture turning rigid. Villeneuve was as busy as it could be, people gossiping and walking around, preparing themselves for the opening of the market. Gaston got off his horse with ease and walked up to LeFou.

“So, shall we?”

LeFou shook off dirt from his waistcoat and nodded.

Père Robert was astounded to see someone such as _Gaston_ walk into his church’s library, but the surprise toned down once LeFou stepped in too. “Gentlemen,” he greeted. “What brings you here?”

LeFou scratched his cheek. “I apologize if this question might seem a bit… Unusual. But do you know what wolfmen are?”

“Werewolves, you mean.”

“Yes,” he murmured.

Gaston frowned, gaze moving from man to man. “What are those?”

Père Robert crouched and got a book from a small shelf near the big cross. He opened it and browsed it until he hummed and stopped in one chapter. “‘Lycanthropes’,” he read out loud. “They’re creatures of the night, monsieur Gaston. Blood thirsty ones at that.”

Gaston scoffed and looked over at LeFou, who was staring intently at the page. “You don’t actually _believe_ in this, do you? Christ’s sake, they’re just… old wives’ tales.”

“Actually, they are not. Villeneuve has faced a case of lycanthropy. Not too long ago, the cattle began disappearing and appearing dead nearby. The townspeople had heard of werewolves and so began blaming the attacks on one. They all found a suspect in common.”

There was a pit in Gaston’s stomach, he started to feel sick. “I know the story, my father told me about it. It doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Your father lived it. He was among the crowd that watched Gèrard Gévaudan die.”

“He was the werewolf,” LeFou said.

“They, they could have hanged the wrong man!”

“The attacks stopped after his hanging,” Père Robert said without losing his posture.

“If… Gaston was cursed. He’s to become a wolfman until, huh, he regrets…”

“Until I find true love and that person loves me back,” Gaston said in a deadpan voice.

“Yeah… Do you think he’ll be hanged?”

“If he isn’t careful, he might.”

Gaston’s heart was in his throat, his breathing fast. “Define being careful.”

“Well, Gèrard’s hanging was due to killing of cattle and later on two men. If you do none of those things until you break the curse, you’ll be alright.”

Gaston clenched his fists.

Père Robert turned to LeFou. “How are you certain he was cursed with lycanthropy?”

“He was eating the carcass of a deer earlier today.”

“Oh, I see.”

Gaston scoffed and stormed off. He growled at a stray dog that began barking at him. So, great Prince Adam gets to become a beast and live in a castle with singing and talking furniture, but _Captain Gaston_ has to become a bloodthirsty, borderline animalistic thing and live with it for four entire months, all without being able to give into his instincts. That wasn’t fair, _at all_. And he had to talk to Agathe about it. Yes, that was perfect. He’d have a little talk with her, she’d made it so the instincts disappeared and he’d live well. Gaston took in a breath and began walking around the village, greeting whoever passed by.

He found her by the tavern’s entrance. “Agathe! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She sighed and got up to her feet. “What is it?”

“We need to have a talk about this… Instinct thing. I’m having some troubles with them. Can you lift those? Leave me just with the curse?”

“I apologize but no, monsieur Gaston, I cannot. They’re part of the curse and you must live with it.”

Surely this meant there was some kind of deeper meaning to it. He gripped Agathe’s arm to stop her from walking away, strong fingers leaving pale marks on the skin underneath. “Undo it,” he hissed. “Agathe, I’m not one for violence,” — she scoffed — “but my patience has a limit and trust me, it is reaching it.”

“Gaston!”

He let go of her arm, eyes that burned with a cold fire fixated on her as she walked away, peaceful.

“What were you doing with Agathe?,” LeFou asked, walking up to him.

Gaston huffed, fists opening and closing by his sides. He took a deep breath and looked down at his friend. “Trying to get rid of whatever is going to get me hanged!,” he hissed.

“Nothing is! You’re not… That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure you’ll be okay.”

“Oh, shut up. You don’t know it won’t happen. No one in Villeneuve likes me anymore, LeFou.” He took another deep breath. “I’m going home.”

“Gaston.”

“Leave me.” He began walking home, almost losing his posture.

“What?”

Gaston ignored him and kept walking, or rather, strutting.

“Gaston!” He stopped short and stayed in place, waiting for LeFou to keep up. LeFou was frowning and his cheeks were slightly red. “You stay there and you talk to me,” he said.

Gaston almost laughed. Was he _seriously_ trying to give him orders? “Who are you to boss me around, LeFou?,” he simply said with a smirk, returning to head home.

“Fine, don’t stay! But I’m coming with you and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Since when do _you_ call the shots?”

“Since I got sick and tired of you abusing me by doing so,” he said.

Gaston stopped and looked at LeFou. He was serious, the most serious Gaston had ever seen him. “I didn’t abuse you.”

“Maybe not physically but you… You manipulated me to do whatever you wanted me to do. Did you seriously think I thought you meant the, the kissing and the hands on my shoulders, and the chin grabbing? I’m not a fool. I’m not.”

“I…”

“Gaston, I know you’re not in love with me. I’m done with fooling myself by thinking so,” he told him. The street they stood in was desert and Gaston thanked God for that. “I know I’m great, I do. But I know who you are and what your type is, and it is not me. It’s… Loose women and whatever Belle was.” He sounded angry. “And I’m neither of that. But you know something? I don’t care! I don’t care that you don’t feel the same way. I love you and I care for you, and you can _bet_ I will manage to break that curse. Because you’re my friend.”

Gaston was speechless. He sniffed, masking it as a deep breath. “I wasn’t making all that up,” he said, defending himself.

“Sure.”

He wasn’t. He hadn’t.

Gaston stayed inside the rest of the day. Dogs stopped by his window to bark at him and Gaston growled at them, making them run away. LeFou had stayed with him, watching his drinking.

He was now in his fourth bottle of grog, and in a near drunken coma. He didn’t speak, no matter how many questions of “How are you feeling?” and “Do you want to talk?” LeFou made.

Gaston clenched his jaw when he felt the tears fill his eyes, memories from his war days — these too traumatizing for him to call them glory days — coming back to him. The very memories he had tried to drown. The first time he had seen a dead body — one of his own men, intestines spilled next to the corpse, throat slashed. Gaston had thrown up right then and there.

“Hey, hey,” LeFou called, putting a soothing hand to Gaston’s shoulder. “You’re alright. You had to do it.”

Gaston didn’t speak. He swallowed down the rest of the grog despite LeFou’s now physical attempts to stop him. “You sh-, you should,” he stammered between hiccups. “You should leave. LeFou, you should, you should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re my friend and I’ll stay by your side until this is over.”

“LeFou, I mean it,” he stammered. The hiccups had become gasps and Gaston was starting to sweat. His eyes were glazed and dark. “Go.”

“ _No_.”

Gaston’s eyes slipped shut and he fell to the ground with a thud. He could feel his body convulse, unable to do anything except gasp for air and groan. His teeth hurt and so did every bone in his body. Just like the night before. _Exactly_ just like the night before. He had just been too drunk to remember, of course. The tears spilled and he became numb.

Gaston woke up on hard, sandy ground. He couldn’t remember anything past passing out. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten to wherever he was. He couldn’t remember how his mouth got wet, again. And he definitely couldn’t remember how a dead dog had been placed next to him. It was early morning, the sun shining softly upon Villeneuve. Gaston groaned and glanced at the animal beside him again. “Shit,” he said. “Shit!” He had killed a fucking _dog_. Not a stray one either, it had a thin thread collar around its neck. He had killed someone’s pet. Gaston was panicking by now. The villagers would soon wake up and find him next to a dead pet, mouth bloody. He kneeled, trying to rise to his feet and failing. The blood on the ground made it slippery. Gaston finally managed to get up, his breeches and hands stained with blood. He tried to make out where he was. He walked home as fast as he could, leaving a trail of dark red blood behind.

He knocked on LeFou’s door, hands staining it. “LeFou!,” he called.

Someone nearby shushed him. “Some of us are trying to sleep, Captain!”

He groaned and kicked the door in frustration. It opened and Gaston sighed. He walked in and closed the door behind him. He collapsed on the floor, exhausted. He didn’t know how tired he actually was until he closed his eyes, his eyelids feeling like lead.

Gaston woke up with a wet rag on his forehead. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He watched as LeFou picked the rag up and dug it into a metal basin full of water. He twisted it and ran it over Gaston’s cheeks carefully. “You got me worried, last night,” LeFou told him. His gaze met Gaston’s. “You ran away before I could do anything,” he said. “Christ, Gaston.”

“...I don’t remember what I did.”

“Killed and ate a dog, apparently.” He could notice Gaston already knew _that_ and explained further. “You turned into some… beast. You stayed mainly the same but your eyes got dark, and your teeth were all sharp. You weren’t you, Gaston.”

“Did I hurt you?”

LeFou shook his head. “No. I had silver.”

“Silver?”

“It’s good against werewolves,” he told him.

“I could have hurt you if it wasn’t for a piece of metal?”

“You didn’t. That’s what matters. I’m alright and you’re alright,” he said, going back to wiping Gaston’s face with cold water.

“...What about the dog?”

“They blamed it on a stray dog,” LeFou said with a shrug. He tried to seem unaffected but Gaston could notice the unfallen tears in his eyes. He wiped them and put his hand on top of Gaston’s. “We'll lock the door tonight.”

“I don't think that'll work.”

“It doesn't hurt to try.” At no reply from Gaston he moved to inspect his nails. “They look like claws.”

Gaston groaned. “I swear I did _not_ have nails like that.”

LeFou's eyes widened in realization. “Neither did you have fangs. Of course, it's all part of the transformation. Wolfmen don't turn immediately, they turn slowly until it's full moon.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have…” LeFou counted on his fingers something Gaston did not understand in the slightest. “Four days until full moon.”

“LeFou, you're not making any sense.”

He turned to Gaston. “You'll turn fully on that day. After that you'll have to live as a werewolf for four months until you find true love, or whatever.” He handed Gaston a silver ring. “You can have it, it might help.”

Gaston’s hands closed around the small piece of jewelry. He looked up at LeFou, sure he'd cry. LeFou was on the verge of tears, and all Gaston wanted to do was put his free hand to his cheek and kiss him. Thank him for always being there despite Gaston’s outbursts. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. Christ, he was actually in tears.

“What? Why? You didn’t do anything,” LeFou replied, wiping his nose to his sleeve.

“Yes, I, I did. _Fuck_ , I hurt you so much.” He let out a bitter laugh, shocked at how much it took him to realize what he had done. He sat up. “I’m sorry.”

“Gaston, it’s okay. It’s all behind us now. We can… We can start anew.” He nodded and sniffed. “Prince Adam got redeemed, why can’t you?”

“Because I don’t regret half of the shit I’ve done…?”

“Do you regret hurting me?”

Gaston stared into LeFou’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, of course I do. You’re my friend. My only friend at that… I care for you.”

“Then it’s okay. You regret that, and that’s the most important part. It doesn’t matter that you don’t regret killing in the war or hunting. You had to, to make sure we’d win and Villeneuve was saved. And the other is your source of income.”

Gaston smiled. “You’re the best.”

LeFou grinned and shrugged, obviously flustered. He bowed down his head and Gaston sighed. “What if we keep you somewhere you can’t escape today?,” LeFou said, his face lighting up. “I’ll keep you in our cellar. Lock the door and put a chair in front of it!”

Gaston nodded. Hopefully it'd work and he wouldn't harm anything or anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are getting shorter and shorter im so sorry,

He growled and threw himself to the door again, making it nudge an inch. “Just open the door!”

“You’re staying in there until you’re back to yourself!,” LeFou called from the other side.

Gaston closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He opened them and moved to look at the small mirror on the wall. He had broken it earlier; his knuckles were still bloodied from the punch. He grimaced. His teeth were as sharp as ever, slightly bloody from the attempted bites Gaston took at LeFou as he tried to lock him up — he had turned earlier than the nights before. His chest heaved under his open shirt, marked with small beads of blood. He took another deep breath. The thing that irritated Gaston the most, though, wasn’t the burning of his wounds, or the blood smeared on his clothes, or how awkwardly his teeth now fit in his mouth. It was the fact his hair seemed to be _greying_. Truly outrageous. “LeFou,” he called, trying his best to make his now rougher voice sound sweet.

“That’s not you, Gaston!”

“Yes, it is me.” He strutted to the door and took in a breath. Then, he put on the most genuine grin as if LeFou could see him through the hard wood and spoke, “Come now, LeFou. I’m your dearest friend, aren’t I? Would I ever hurt you?”

“You tried to bite my arm off! You’re not my friend, you’re a _beast_! And I’m only letting you out when you’re not one and back to yourself!”

Gaston’s faux grin faded and was replaced by a sneer. He closed his fist and pulled his arm back, then delivered a punch to the door. _Hard_. He withdrew his hand, now covered in small pieces of wood, and grinned at the hole he had made. Gaston put his harmed hand through it and began clawing around it.

“I’ll shoot!”

“You will _not_ , you love me!” He pulled his hand back, taking a good chunk of the door with it. Enough to look through. He peeked through the big hole, breathing heavily. LeFou sat on a chair in front of the door. He was holding Gaston’s rifle, pointing at the door and shaking terribly. Gaston could practically smell his reluctancy. “I know you won’t pull the trigger, LeFou. Just make it easier for the both of us and _open the goddamn door_!”

“No!” Gaston noticed a small movement around the trigger of the rifle. “I’ll shoot if you get out, I swear I will! Don’t test me, Gaston!”

He growled and stepped back. In a bout of anger he destroyed nearly every barrel in the room, spilling wine, beer and grog on the floor. “I’m starving, LeFou,” he groaned. “You won’t let your closest friend die of starvation now, will you?” There was a moment of silence before something fell through the hole on the stained floor with a thud. “What’s that?”

“Chicken. Either you eat it or you starve; it’s _your_ choice.”

Chicken. LeFou was giving him _chicken_. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. It’s either that or nothing. I’m not letting you out for anything.”

“Christ! What’s the big problem of letting me out to _feed_?! Just give me… I don’t know, a wolf or a deer, or something! Anything but a _chicken_!”

“Just eat it!”

Gaston rolled his eyes. Sure he liked chicken, but when they fought back. He liked the feeling of the blood running down his chin. He took a bite off the leg and grumbled.

After the chicken, and after running around in circles due to the energy that didn’t seem to wear off, Gaston heard soft snores coming from the other side of the door. He looked through the hole and found LeFou sleeping, leaning against the rifle. Exhaustion had taken the best of him. Gaston grinned, sharp, bloody teeth showing, and managed to break the door in half. Unfortunately for him it had been enough to startle LeFou and wake him up again.

“Get inside,” he mumbled, still half asleep. Gaston glanced at the rifle and then looked up at LeFou, who rubbed his eyes quickly. “Get inside, _now_!”

“Make me. What, what are you gonna do? Shoot me? I’d like to see that,” he growled.

“I will,” he said, voice shaking. “I will, I’ll shoot!”

Gaston scoffed and walked to the door, ready to hunt again. He fell to the ground with a yelp before he could reach it. He put his hand to his now bleeding arm.

“Those are silver bullets too,” LeFou told him.

“You’re mad!”

“No, you’re just a bloody werewolf!”

Gaston whimpered, something both men were sure they hadn’t heard before. He blinked away the tears. “Shit, it burns!” His grip tightened and he growled when LeFou tried to touch him.

“I just want to help you,” he said, kneeling down.

“After shooting me in the arm?!”

“You were going to go on a murderous rampage!” Gaston turned around, away from LeFou. “Are you serious? You’re just going to pout instead of letting me help you?”

“You shot me!”

“It was for your own good, Gaston!”

“Well, it hurts like Hell!”

LeFou turned him around and held him there as he got the water from earlier. He put the wet rag to the wound, making Gaston hiss. “Just stay still.”

“Do you even _know_ how much a bloody bullet hurts!?”

“We were in the war together! ...And how is it you can even talk when you’re turned?, you couldn’t before!”

“I don’t… What?” His breathing started to quicken.

LeFou sighed. “I need to take the bullet out.”

“ _What_?” LeFou didn’t reply and simply got up. Gaston thought about the talking matter. It was, in fact, the first time he was at least one tiny bit aware of what was happening. He had some sort of consciousness. “LeFou, what are…” He trailed off when LeFou sat next to him with Gaston’s hunting dagger in his hand. “Oh, no. You’re not getting that thing near me!”

LeFou put a hand on his shoulder and kept him down. “Stay put.”

“Don’t tell me to stay put when you’re going to _stab_ me.”

“Is it that hard for you to do as I say?”

“When it’s going to hurt, yeah.”

“ _Fine_. I’ll just wait for you to turn back. Like I was _supposed_ to.”

After a long moment of silence, Gaston spoke. “...You should turn with me.”

“ _What_?”

“Into a werewolf. This is much more fun than you think.” He flashed him a grin and LeFou’s lip quivered. The smell of blood was intoxicating in the worst way possible for him. Gaston, on the other hand, absolutely loved the metallic scent. “You get to do _anything_. Nothing stops you. You’re a force of nature, LeFou,” he said, with a slight shake of his head. The grin was enough to make LeFou uneasy but it was the glazed look in Gaston’s eyes that really scared him. “Let me… Let me bite you.”

“No. Gaston, this is a curse. And we’re going to break it, okay?”

“You… You sound so sad. LeFou, please, this is like…” He wet his lips, searching for the right answers. “It makes killing feel like an orgasm.”

“I don’t care! Killing should never feel good!”

“Oh, you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy killing those people in the war?”

“Of course not!”

“And shooting me didn’t feel one bit good?,” he asked, sitting up.

“ _No_!”

“Why are you crying? LeFou, I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime!”

LeFou sobbed. “No, you’re not! I’ll never be like you, Gaston! I’ll never kill without feeling guilty! I’ll never….”

“You’ll never be a monster?,” Gaston finished for him.

“That’s not… You’re my friend, I just want my Gaston back. This isn’t… You. This isn’t you at all.”

Gaston scoffed. “This is me, my friend. I’ve always been like this.”

“This is the curse, shut up!”

There was only one way of making him change his mind, Gaston thought. He put his hand to LeFou’s cheek and, before he could protest, he kissed him hard.

LeFou cried out and pushed him off. “You’re not… Him.”

Gaston grinned. “Yes, I am.”

“I don’t know what Gaston you are, but you’re not mine… I just… I just have to wait until morning,” he said, trying to calm himself down.

Gaston noticed the sun shine on top of LeFou’s hair. “It’s morning. And I’m not turned.” The second those words left his lips he blacked out.

He woke up to a sharp pain in his upper arm. He whined and opened his eyes to look at whatever was stinging so hard. A knife. His eyes widened and he pulled his arm up instinctively, making LeFou yell. “Gaston!” He dropped the knife and put his hands to the new cut. “Christ!”

“What are you doing?!”

“I was taking the bullet out,” he said, looking for something to stop the blood. Thankfully, it had been shallow and so the blood was but small beads. “You scared me.”

“I scared you?! I’m not the one stabbing people in their sleep!”

LeFou ignored him and cleaned up the blood. “There you go. It’s just a scratch.”

“What were you doing that for?”

“The bullet…?” Gaston frowned. “I… I shot you. Last night?”

Gaston blinked. He had _some_ memories of the night before. Most of them were blurry, though. “I don’t… recall any of that.”

LeFou seemed slightly relieved. “Well, you got out of the cellar and I had to shot you to stop you from going out.”

“Oh. Well,” Gaston said, turning to look at the ceiling with impressive focus, “do a quick job at getting the bullet out; it stings.”

LeFou murmured a “yes” and tried his best, drawing sharp intakes of breath from Gaston when he thrust the dagger too far in. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s alright.” Gaston’s hand was gripping his hair, now, to stop him from crying out.

“Gaston, last night…”

“Just get the bullet out, we can speak of that later.”

“...Okay.” His voice was small and Gaston’s heart sank slightly. Had he hurt him? He’d never forgive him if that was so. Gaston let out an “ah” when LeFou pulled the blade out and the bullet with it. “There you go. I’ll just, huh, need to patch you up real quick.”

Gaston nodded, his eyes brimming with unfallen tears of pain.

“Are you alright?”

“It just hurts.”

LeFou let out a breath through his nose. “Keep your hand on the rag.”

Gaston did so and watched him leave his side. He looked so hurt. His sleeve had been ripped open and it was tainted slightly with dark brown blood. Gaston felt sick to his stomach. He had done it, he had hurt him. “I’m sorry,” he told him, making the apology seem like one word instead of two, when LeFou kneeled by his side.

He looked up from the wound. “Huh?”

“I hurt you. Didn’t I?”

LeFou bit his lower lip and shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“What? No, it’s not. LeFou, I… I’m sorry.”

“Gaston, seriously. You’re back, that’s what matters.”

“What happened?”

“You… Tried to bite me when I was getting you in the cellar. That’s it.”

“Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

LeFou’s hands stopped wrapping for a second and he seemed to be holding a breath. They resumed their work and LeFou nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Gaston knew he was lying, he knew he had hurt him beyond that. Yet he couldn’t find it in him to pressure him to talk.

“And you might have kissed me,” he said, quickly.

Gaston snorted. “I did what?”

“Kissed me,” he repeated, eyes on the wound, cheeks a bright red. “Listen, I… I don’t know why it happened either. I mean, I might have an idea but…”

Gaston laughed, full of cynicism. “I’d never kiss you.”

“That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Gaston. Honestly I think it surpasses you calling me the best.”

“I,” he stammered, trying to correct himself.

“You’re not interested in men,” LeFou said, mocking his voice and accent. “I know,” he said, back to his own. “You keep telling me. I’m going to be honest with you, Gaston. If you really didn’t like men, you wouldn’t need to assure it every five seconds.”

Gaston was dumbfounded.

LeFou cleared his throat and tied the cloth in a knot. “There you go.”

“Let me take care of your wound,” Gaston said, sitting up and turning to LeFou.

“Gaston, I’ll be fine.”

“I hurt you and I want to help.”

LeFou sighed. “Okay.” He sat by Gaston, who moved to dip the blood stained rag in the pinkish water.

“Take off your shirt.”

LeFou did as told and Gaston helped him with it. He put it over the couch and started wiping the slashes clean. “Ow,” LeFou hissed.

“Hold up.” Gaston looked up. He moved his thumb to wipe away a wayward tear that ran down LeFou’s cheek. “I’ll be done in no time,” he murmured. He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not but LeFou’s breathing seemed to be slowing down. Gaston smirked to himself. He picked the bandage up and began wrapping it around the injury. “All good,” he said with a charming smile.

“Thank you,” LeFou said, not making one bit of eye contact with Gaston.

“You said you had an idea of why I had kissed you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t… Remember it.”

“Hm.” Gaston nodded. He got up and walked to the liquor cabinet — it seemed like he hadn’t drunk in ages.

“Gaston, don’t,” LeFou called from the living room as Gaston poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Just for today, alright?”

“I’ll just drink this one, I promise.”

Gaston was a man of his word but he broke it that day in under an hour. By the end of the day he was lying on the ground, groaning in pain.

“Make it _stop_!”

“I tried! But you _had_ to drink the entire bottle,” LeFou complained. He sat down by Gaston and gave him a glass of water. “Just drink this, it’ll help.”

Gaston did so reluctantly. “I’m hungry.”

“You’ve eaten like five minutes ago.”

He sneered. “Whatever. I’m going out.”

“Wh— it’s the middle of the night!”

“And…? This is Villeneuve, LeFou. The village is only really dead after one in the morning.” He walked out and LeFou followed. Gaston didn’t ask and so LeFou didn’t tell him, but he knew why he had come. Fear he might turn and murder someone. The thought made Gaston scoff under his breath.

The night was pleasant, a slightly cool breeze refreshing them. “So, where are we going?”

“For a walk. A night as good as this needs to be appreciated, LeFou. And what better way to do that than a walk in the moonlight?”

LeFou raised his eyebrows. “It is pretty.”

“Just like me,” Gaston sighed.

LeFou laughed.

“Why are you laughing? Am I lying?”

“No, you are not.” He scratched his arm, over his wound, and hissed.

“What?”

“The, huh, bite. It stings a little.”

A flash of worry covered Gaston’s face. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine.”

He sighed before nodding once. The walk was good, making Gaston feel lighter, his worries going away. He'd greet whoever passed by, thanking heavens for the lack of lighting lest they see the changes in his appearance. The church's clock stroke one and a half in the morning. Gaston fell to his knees and began convulsing slightly. Unfortunately for him, he had been talking to a couple of people when it happened. More and more gathered around to watch their captain succumb to whatever darkness was taking him.

LeFou kneeled by him, eyes widened ad worried. He took something small and grey out of his pocket and pressed it to Gaston's neck as he growled lowly, the skin burning underneath the object. “You're not turning.”

Gaston growled in reply. He was half conscious, trying so hard to keep himself awake. “Leave me.”

“You are not turning,” LeFou repeated, pressing the little silver thing harder to Gaston's neck, and moving a hand to hold his head. “You're not turning.”

“You can't stop it.”

“Last night you had conscience, you could talk. You can… You can fight it, I know you can.”

Gaston squinted. LeFou was on the verge of tears, some had actually already fallen on Gaston's chest.

“Please, Gaston.”

“Tell them to go. I don't, I don't want to hurt them.”

“Everyone, go home,” LeFou called, eyes always on his friend.

Gaston cried out and digged his nails — or rather, claws — into LeFou's shoulder. “That hurts.”

“It's for your own good,” he whispered, voice shaking with emotion. “Gaston, please fight it. I know you can. I believe in you.” LeFou's eyes were full of sadness and pity but there was a hint of hope that made it seem like he wasn't hurting at all.

“I'm going to hurt you again,” he gritted out, starting to feel less and less control of his body.

“No, you won't. Gaston, fight it.” He sobbed. “Please.”

His grip in LeFou's shoulder softened and he let his hand fall to the ground. “It'll be okay.”

“No! No, no, Gaston. Please. Gaston, please.”

Gaston closed his eyes and growled.

“What’s happening to him!?”

“I told you all to go!”

“What's wrong with— He's a wolfman! Get your torches, we must kill him!”

“Any of you hurt Gaston I'll personally make your life a living hell!”

Gaston opened his eyes. He felt different, more animalistic in a way. The crowd was staring at him, scared and angry. Revolted. LeFou withdrew the gun from the sheath on the side of Gaston's breeches and pointed at the crowd.

“I'll shoot! If any of you as much as _touch_ him, I'll kill you!”

Gaston was absolutely starving. He eyed every person gathered there, looking for the best one.

“How about you kill your captain instead?! He's the one that has been killing dogs!”

“He's killed two of my cows too!”

“I did not,” Gaston said in some sort of bark.

“I don't care! Until he kills someone from the village you don't have a strong enough argument against him!” The pistol shook in LeFou's grip, himself crying.

“He's a monster, LeFou!”

“He's my friend!”

Gaston thought it out quickly. He could attack, which would end in LeFou hurt and himself dead. He could just stay put, but he'd end up dying of starvation. Or, he could run. Run up the hill and hunt something there, away from everyone. He did just that. Jumping up to his feet and dodging attempts by the crowd at hurting him, he ran away.

“Gaston!,” he heard LeFou cry out in the distance. He sounded so hurt.

Gaston didn't care. Or maybe he did but he didn't want to admit he felt anything else other than pride towards himself and anger. He ran through the hill and into the forest, erratic branches cutting through his clothes and leaving red scratches upon his skin. He definitely did not care about _that_. He cared about feeding. He cared about the pit in his stomach disappearing with the help of fresh deer meat. He cared about… That. He had spotted a family of deers. He grinned. Perfect.

Like a predator stalking its prey — which definitely wasn't too far off — he walked up to them slowly. The smell was intoxicating and made Gaston's stomach rumble, his mouth watering. His breathing became deep and rhythmic. A muscle in the corner of his eyes twitched and he took in a breath, holding it.

He jumped over the buck, holding his antlers down with his hands. Gaston took a bite from his neck and held the animal down as it bled out, occasionally drinking the sprouting blood. He glanced to the startled deer and ran after it, quick and predatory. He slashed its neck with his teeth and claws, and opened his mouth, drinking whatever blood he could catch. Once it was dead, Gaston delved a hand into one of its front legs and ripped a piece off. He moaned as the blood trickled down his wrist. He licked it away and ate the meat. Slow and steady, he loved the thrill of the hunt but eating? Eating took time. Eating had to be appreciated. And so he did, savouring every bit of the sweet meat. Once he was done with that deer, he walked up to the buck he had killed. The meat wasn’t as fresh and tender as the deer’s but it worked. He was doing it out of pleasure now. He laughed, a low, beastily sound, as he feasted. He was _everything_. Including thirsty. Gaston leaned in and licked off blood from the grass and then from the animal’s wounds.

He was filthy. Blood covered his face from his lips down his chin, dripping onto his clothes. His hands were covered in it too, and it began to clot underneath his claws. He got up to his feet and walked around, fully recovered from his hunger, looking for a lake to wash the blood off of him.

He found one not too far away from his killing spot. He undressed rather quickly and dived in promptly. He cleaned himself slowly and thoroughly, making sure he’d be spotless. Gaston untied his hair and put the ribbon between his teeth before washing it as well as he could, greying strands tangling with regular black ones. Once he was done and cleaned, he tied it up and dressed his breeches.

Before he could get to do anything else, he began feeling slow and exhausted. Gaston, now fully dressed, leaned on a seemingly comfortable tree and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the morning sunlight gently illuminating his features and the far away murmur of a mob.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tons of death and edgyness (is that even a word the red underline says no but i don't care!) and Gay Suffering! also maurice is back for like. twelve seconds lov tht old man

Gaston was thrown unceremoniously against the village’s hanging pole, something that hadn’t been used in ages. Villeneuve wasn’t a violent village, otherwise in fact.

“Let him go! He didn’t do anything!”

Gaston’s head was reeling. They had thrown him into a cart while he was unconscious, tied his hands up behind his back too. He turned his head to the side and emptied his stomach by the pole. Deer meat, buck meat, blood. Everything. He gasped for air, tears in his eyes, and spit. He looked up at the mob, all of them blurred. “What are you doing?” He looked for friendly faces among the crowd, finding only LeFou, Mary, Tom, and Dick. The four of them seemed the most upset, LeFou crying.

“You’re getting yourself hanged,” Jean said.

“What? LeFou?,” he called.

“Jean, stop it!,” he sobbed. “You don’t have any evidence against him!”

“It’s either this or the madhouse,” Jean replied as he handed one of the policemen, monsieur Gilles, a rope.

“Please, this is your, your friend!”

“What are you even hanging me for?!”

“Killing of cattle and attempted murder,” Jean said.

“ _What_?!”

“Are you telling me the bites in LeFou’s arm aren’t from you, you monster?”

“No, but… I’d never, I’d never hurt him!”

Jean scoffed and swung the rope over the pole.

“Jean, please! Let him go!”

“Hold him back,” he told to a couple of men near LeFou.

The men did as told, strong hands gripping LeFou's soft arms, bruising them for sure. Gaston felt his heart hammer in his chest. Everything had gone wrong. He was going to get hanged and LeFou was hurt.

The crowd kept shouting “kill him” and “monster”. The realization hit Gaston like a punch to the gut. This is what he had done to the Beast, to Prince Adam. Gathered an easily scared crowd and planted in their minds he had to die.

“Please, this is exactly what you were complaining about at the tavern!" He tried desperately to appeal to the townsfolk's common sense one last time. “That I had been savage enough to try to kill Prince Adam! You're doing the exact same thing now!”

“Prince Adam never killed anyone.”

“Neither have I!”

“Stop this at once!”

Gaston was absolutely gobsmacked when he saw who called out for his aide. “Maurice?”

He walked up to Gaston and put his hands to his hips. “What do you think you’re doing, Jean?”

The old man stammered. “Hang him, of course! He killed two dogs and tried to bite LeFou’s arm off!” One man grabbed LeFou’s arm and pulled his shirt up, revealing a blood stained bandage. “Look at that! This man is a danger to our village, Maurice. He’s a _wolfman_.”

“Monsieur LeFou. Did your friend really give you that wound?”

LeFou withdrew his arm angrily. “Yes, but he regrets it. He apologized the second he realized I was hurt.”

Gaston’s breath was fast. “Maurice, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” he said, waving a dismissive hand in front of him.

“You’re really defending the man who tried to kill you?,” Jean asked.

“Yes. Because he, just like everyone else in this village, deserves a second chance.”

“Maurice,” he repeated.

“Don’t say a word, Captain.” He turned to Jean. “Let this man go. Remember my daughter _is_ married to the Prince. It’ll take him less than a day to arrive here and make sure you all have the same fate as monsieur Gaston here, shall you proceed.”

“Does this mean he’s free?,” LeFou asked, the hope so clear in his voice.

“Monsieur Jean.”

Jean dropped the rope. LeFou let out a relieved sigh, still in tears, climbed up to the trap-door and untied Gaston. “I love you,” he whispered as he moved to hug him tight. “I thought I was going to lose you.” He kissed Gaston’s face softly and plenty. “I love you,” he repeated, in a murmur.

“Everyone go home,” Maurice said. “There’s nothing to see here.”

Gaston pulled LeFou off of him and handed him a handkerchief. “You’re a mess.”

LeFou laughed, tears yet staining his cheeks. He blew his nose and folded the handkerchief. Gaston smiled at him. He sat looking at LeFou before getting up, legs wobbling slightly, and walking to Maurice.

“Maurice. Why did you…?”

“Like I said, Captain, everyone deserves a second chance. Even someone like you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, he’s polite,” Maurice joked.

“Yes and I… I apologize for turning everyone against you. I don’t… I was in a frenzy, it’s hard to explain.”

“Do you regret it, Captain?”

“Very.”

“Then you have nothing to explain,” he said with a kind smile. Reminded Gaston of his father.

“Thank you.”

LeFou wouldn’t leave his side at home. To be frank, Gaston didn’t want him to do anything else. That changed when he felt his hands tingle, around midnight. “I have to go,” he murmured quickly to a drunk LeFou.

“Wh, what?”

“I have to go,” he repeated, louder. He opened the door and glanced over at his friend. He looked confused and upset. Gaston slammed the door shut and looked around. The streets were empty; everyone was gathered in the tavern as they usually were on Friday nights. It was perfect for him to leave to the forest. His eyes had gotten more slanted, similar to those of a wolf and his nose began to look more like a snout. The next night would be the last of his transformation and Gaston wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

He had to talk to Agathe, he thought as he walked away into the forest. This had gone far enough. He would have died, were it not for Maurice's intervention, and he had hurt LeFou, the worst of all. Now, Gaston cherished his life. He did. But he would rather die, violently or not, than ever hurt LeFou.

The forest was dark, the moonlight too dim to light it properly. No matter, Gaston's eyes allowed him to see just as well. The hunt hadn't been exactly good, he had had to settle for a few rabbits and one small deer, but it had worked. The meat was tender and sweet, and had Gaston moan and lick away every drop of blood he could reach. The taste got better by the second, addicting.

Gaston licked the blood off his lips and wiped what had dribbled down his chin to his shirt’s sleeve. He caught his breath — killing always left him exhausted and out of breath. It felt good, in a way. Then, he got up to his feet and looked around for Agathe’s hide out before the sun rose and exhaustion consumed him

She was brewing what seemed to be some kind of tea. She looked up at Gaston, calm. “Monsieur.”

“I hurt him,” he said, voice shaking. It scared him that he could feel so much emotion. “Agathe, I hurt LeFou.”

“You're upset.”

“Of course I'm upset!” Gaston wiped his tears. “He's my closest friend. I almost bit his arm off! And that nearly got me hanged.”

“Well,” Agathe said, pouring some of the tea for herself. “Have you found true love?”

“The closest I've got is LeFou.”

“Oh?”

“He confessed, I… I didn't know what to say. I guess I sort of knew already but didn't want to admit it.” He looked down at his boots, filthy with dirt and grass. “Does this mean the curse is lifted?”

“Not until four months, Captain.”

Gaston groaned. “Are you _really_ having me be this monster for _four_ months?!”

“Your temper, Gaston.”

“Fuck that! I almost murdered my best friend!”

“You must learn to control your anger.”

She was so fucking _calm_. It angered him. Irritated him beyond belief. He growled, claws digging into the skin of his hands, blood dripping from them and onto the green grass.

“You won't get anything out of attacking me.”

“He said he wants his Gaston back,” he gritted out. “That I'm not me! He called me a _monster_! He's hurting, Agathe!”

“It seems you care a lot for him.”

“Of course I do! He's…!” Gaston's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't say it, couldn't admit it. Gaston turned around and ripped a chunk off of a nearby tree in a bout of frustration. He clawed at the naked trunk, staining it with blood. He was crying. He was crying and he hated it. “Make it end.”

“I cannot.”

“What do you want from me, Agathe?”

“Proof you can love.”

“You're a witch; talk to my sister. My mother, my father, even my grandfather. All of them are proof.”

“I can't contact the dead.”

“...It's LeFou you want.”

“If you love him, yes.”

Gaston grimaced. The thought of it made his stomach turn. He slammed his forehead against the bloodied tree trunk and let himself slide down to his knees. He closed his eyes, hoping night would end fast and morning would come, ending yet another night of the curse and giving him access to the last and final day of his transformation. Gaston hoped yet another thing. For it to also be the final day of the curse.

 

He didn't go home in the morning as usual. He decided his last day should be spent alone, should his features be too twisted for anyone in Villeneuve to witness. He drank from the nearby pond, ate a rabbit he quickly hunt, and sat down by the river. His hair had grayed fully, blood still tainted his chin, his eyebrows replaced by some sort of arched bones. Gaston ran his fingertips over them, grimacing at the feeling. He heard footsteps, muffled by grass, quick. He turned around and turned back to the river when he realized just who it was.

“Gaston!”

He didn’t move, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t let him see the disgusting monster he had become. “Leave me.”

“What? Gaston, I spent _hours_ looking for you, I’m not going to just leave.” Gaston turned his face when LeFou sat next to him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m goddamn hideous.”

LeFou muffled a laugh. “I don’t care about that.”

“Well, _I_ do.” He shrugged a soft, gentle hand on his forearm off. “Don’t touch me.”

“Gaston, c’mon now. We’re best friends.”

“How hard is it for you to just leave me until this is over?! Four months is all I’m asking, LeFou.”

He went quiet and Gaston felt silently bad. “Do you know what happened,” LeFou started, and Gaston could feel his eyes burning holes in his face, “after you… died?”

“You grew a mustache, went to a wedding and danced with Mary. I know.”

“Not that, Gaston. Before that. After that, too.”

“...What?”

“I was destroyed. And I mean absolutely, completely, _utterly_ destroyed. I felt so much it reached this point where all my feelings were replaced by numbness. I cried every hour just… Thinking of you, reminding myself of how you were. Of your cockiness and, and your smile. And your stupid, rude jokes and the way you hunt. I missed you so much, it _hurt_. My chest felt like… Like this pit. People had to go to my house daily to check if I had been eating, if I had been bathing. If I had been doing _anything_. If I hadn’t done some… Madness like ending my life. Gaston, I wasn’t, by any means, exaggerating when I said you were my everything. I didn’t have anyone else. Everyone in Villeneuve remembered you in bitterness and I was left alone with an empty space to fill, with a… A void that seemed to grow larger by the second.”

Gaston could hear him choke up and he felt tears well up in his eyes.

“I started drinking, not as bad as you did or as you _do_ , but that happened. And I’d show up to the tavern to work only to be sent home because I started crying when I looked at your chair. No one sat there. And it was so empty, so, so empty... I had headaches all the time thanks to the crying… And then you came back. Like an angel, you walked back into the tavern and ordered something and I was… In awe. It was like…” A longer pause. “It was like falling in love with you all over again.” He murmured it, and Gaston sneered. He still couldn’t accept it. “And now you tell me to leave you. Gaston, I couldn’t do that even if I wanted.”

Gaston didn’t move. He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe, he didn’t do anything. After a while he let out a breath and turned to LeFou.

“Gaston, I love you.”

“Will you stop saying that?!”

LeFou shrunk, startled by his friend's change of tone. “Why?”

“Because I don't want to hear it!”

“Why?”

“I… I just don't want to, alright?”

“...You're in love with someone.”

Gaston scoffed.

“You are. Why won't you admit it? The curse will be broken, you _idiot_!” Gaston didn't reply. He trembled and tightened his fists, but he didn't reply. “It's a man. Are you seriously allowing yourself to become a beast for four months because you don't want to tell a man you love him?! Why don't you just do it and get this over with?!”

“Because I'm not a freak!,” Gaston snapped.

LeFou stood paralyzed, tears streaming down his cheeks slowly, eyes wide. His body shook with a sob.

Gaston got up and started walking away. That'd have to do. He had hurt LeFou enough for him to leave him alone. Gaston's chest felt as if it were being pierced by some kind of sword, himself close to tears.

“Look at me, you… you coward!”

Gaston sneered and did so. He was a beast, sure, but he was no coward. LeFou was fuming, breathing hard, his hands closed in small fists, features twisted from crying.

“ _I_ ’m a freak for being in love with you?!”

“That’s not—”

“Then what are you, Gaston?! Huh?! For four days you’ve been turning into a fucking monster, killing people’s pets! And not just _killing_ them! Feeding off of them too! And _I_ ’m the freak?!” LeFou scoffed, a hurt, bitter sound. “ _Right_!”

“If you’re so angry at me, LeFou, why don’t you just leave? Why don’t you just…” He wet his lips and stammered, something unusual. “Just go back to Villeneuve? Wait until I’m not a _freak_ and then come back?”

“Because I promised I’d be with you until it was over!”

“Well, obviously that’s going to take a while!”

“Because you’re a stubborn fuck! How hard is it to just go up to the guy and go ‘oh, by the way, I’m in love with you, I just needed to get it off my chest _so I don’t become a fucking werewolf_!?”

“Very hard!”

“ _Why_?! Why is it hard, Gaston?!”

“Because I don’t want to admit it! I’m not…! I don’t confess love, others do that to _me_!”

“Yeah, that obviously has worked _perfectly_ for you!”

“Why are you being so sarcastic?!”

“Because you don’t seem to listen to anything I say if I’m not!”

Gaston took in a breath. He wasn’t exactly wrong. To be fair, LeFou wasn’t exactly wrong ever. “I hurt you. I nearly bit your goddamn arm off, I called you a freak. Wh… What I mean to say is, why don’t you just leave me?”

“I’ve told you.”

“Well, why don’t you break the promise?!”

“I don’t like breaking promises.”

He didn’t speak. Gaston cursed himself for being so proud. Were he humbler, this would have been easier. He could have admitted his feelings, put them out there, break the curse. But, unfortunately, he was proud Captain Gaston. He didn’t confess. He rarely had any feelings at all. And definitely not towards a man so close to him as LeFou.

“I was by your side during the war, I’m by your side during the curse… We’re _Le Duo_ ,” he added with a small smile, barely noticeable, and a shrug. He wasn’t angry anymore. The tears still fell, silent, and he still trembled, but he wasn’t angry. He seemed almost peaceful, in fact. Gaston himself was calmer as well. He stepped towards LeFou, who looked up at him with hopeful eyes. Gaston brushed his hair away from his face and tied the small ponytail again, careful as not to scratch LeFou’s scalp with his curved claws. Gaston looked down at him, put his hands on LeFou’s shoulders and almost broke down into tears. LeFou looked at him with such hope, such _love_. And Gaston realized. He wasn’t leaving him, not because he ‘didn’t like to break promises’, but because he had hope in him. He had hope he’d redeem himself, he’d become a better person.

“I need a minute by myself,” he whispered to him. “I won’t run away. You can stay here. I’ll just… I’ll just go to the clearing, alright?”

LeFou nodded. “Okay.”

Gaston flashed a smile and walked away. He ran his fingertips over every tree branch he passed, scratching his skin. He sat by a lake, the same he had bathed in two nights ago. Gaston took a deep breath and pressed his thumbnail — thumb claw — to the middle of his right palm. He sneered as he cut, messily and bloodily, through the skin. He closed his hand in a fist and squeezed, the blood falling in drops into the water. It hurt, and it was a pretty ridiculous thing to do, but it helped Gaston calm down and think. The amount of times he had bled himself out during the war was over three dozen, and all of those times had lead to victory. Superstitious, perhaps, but it worked. Gaston ripped a piece of his shirt off with his teeth and wrapped it around the wounded hand. Then he lied down by the lake, closed his eyes, and let himself think about what he would have to do to end the curse. Or, rather, _how_ he would do it.


	7. Chapter 7

Gaston’s breath caught in his throat and he darted his eyes open, now brimming with tears.

He had been thinking about the war. About all the death and all the suffering and all the pain. And about how LeFou had always stayed by his side, always ready to comfort him and make sure he knew he was the best captain their soldiers could have had. And then later when nightmares plagued the nights of both men, when Gaston bared himself to LeFou. Nothing had ever compared to those moments of intimacy. LeFou had always been there for him, even when he saw his honest-to-God true self. An utter mix of war scars, anger and _pride_. So much pride it sickened him. LeFou loved him still. Despite all his flaws, all his outbursts, everything that pointed to him being a deplorable human being. He loved him. He was the one. Someone that loves you despite everything and throughout everything. And LeFou was that.

And Gaston loved him too. He loved him so much. It scared him how long it took him to realize that. Over ten years. Over a _decade_ later, he realized how much he had always loved LeFou. Gaston sat up and wiped away his eyes. He had to find LeFou. Tell him everything.

Luckily for him, he had done like Gaston had told him, and stayed by the river. “Gaston!” LeFou got up to his feet and walked up to him. “Are you okay? Is there something wrong?”

Gaston shook his head. He cleared his throat. “No. No, actually. I just need you to come to Agathe with me. I’m going to break the curse,” he said, giving him a sharp, confident grin that oozed Gaston charm.

LeFou smiled. “Of course. Do you know where she is?”

Gaston’s grin dropped. “I do not. Usually if you walk around, you just stumble into it.”

“Oh! Let’s try that then.”

Gaston could feel his skin burning underneath his clothes, itching. He scratched his neck, almost hard enough to cut open skin.

“Hey! Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” LeFou told him, putting Gaston’s hand away.

Gaston groaned and sneered but kept his hand down. He stopped suddenly when he heard a rumble in the distance.

“Gaston?”

He turned his head and sniffed instinctively. “Did anyone follow you?”

“What?”

Gaston turned to him urgently. “LeFou, did anyone follow you?,” he repeated, looking at him with worried eyes, his hands now on LeFou's shoulders.

“I don't think so,” he murmured.

Gaston's heart pounded and he could feel the veins in his temples pulse, hear his heartbeat in his ears. He looked away, into where the sound seemed to come from. “Run.”

“What?”

He turned back to LeFou. “Run. There's a mob coming after me, you'll be hurt if you stay here.”

“No, Gaston, I'm not leaving.”

“You'll be hurt, please.”

“I… I can't, okay? _You'll_ be hurt if I go.”

“LeFou, I love you,” he blurted out, eyes shut, hands gripping LeFou's shoulders tightly. His confession sounded more like one whole word rather than four. He opened his eyes and blinked the tears away. LeFou was staring at him, crying silently, gaping. “Okay? I can't lose you. I can't have you hurt.”

“Gaston, I…”

“You don't believe me. Of course you don't, why would you? ...No matter,” he said, waving a hand in front of him, “you must run.”

“No, no. No, Gaston.”

“LeFou, I’m not going to lose you.”

“And I’m not going to lose _you_ … I love you, too. I’ll stay here.”

“There he is!”

Gaston growled lowly. Of course _Jean_ leaded the crowd.

“What do you want from him?,” LeFou asked, stepping in front of Gaston and separating him from the angry mob.

“Payment for what he’s done.”

“He hasn’t done _anything_. Yes, he killed some animals. But that is _it_.”

“He tried to bite your arm off!,” said the baker.

“And he apologized! It's healing! He's found a way to break the curse, too!”

“A wolfman’s curse only breaks when he's dead, everyone knows this!”

“Agathe cursed me,” Gaston said.

“Shut up, you beast!”

LeFou turned his head to Gaston and, as if he could sense his ever growing rage, said, “Deep breaths.” He turned back to the crowd. “One of you get Agathe and you'll see!”

“I will,” Père Robert said. “Never wanted to join them to harm anyone, anyway.”

LeFou nodded at him and Gaston watched as he left.

“How can you believe he’s anything other than a monster?,” Clothilde called out. “ _You_ , who were so quick to fight my husband and everyone who worked with him?”

“I followed Gaston because I couldn’t _think_ of being against him! It was nothing against your husband or his colleagues! Besides,” LeFou said with a scoff, “are you people really that bored with your own _tedious_ lives that you’ll hunt down anyone just because someone told you to?” No one spoke and LeFou kept talking. Gaston was surprised at how less shy his friend had become. “You need to start thinking for yourselves, people! Sure, having a leader is good, it’s encouraged, even. But we need to have critical thinking! We need to stop following everyone we see as superior, we need to question them! Where would we be if someone didn’t question our prince?! We’d be living under a _tyranny_!”

“Monsieur LeFou?”

Gaston smiled at his friend and looked over at Père Robert, who was now standing near them, Agathe by his side. “Agathe,” he breathed. He grabbed LeFou’s arm and walked up to her. “Père Robert, do you mind leaving us?”

“Of course not,” he said, walking away.

Agathe put her hood down and brushed her curls behind her shoulders. “Well?”

Gaston realized his grip on LeFou and let go of his arm immediately. “I think I can break the curse, now.”

“In front of all these people, Gaston?”

He took in a breath. “Yes. I’m Captain Gaston, I’m not a shy man.”

“On the contrary,” murmured LeFou.

Agathe smiled gently and asked Gaston, “Well, do you love this man?”

He cleared his throat and wet his lips. He eyed the crowd. If they saw him as a beast before, he truly did not know what they thought of him now.

“They will not hang you. I cannot change their mindset, but I promise none of them will be able to physically harm you or LeFou in regards to this matter,” Agathe said.

Gaston closed his eyes and nodded. He looked down at LeFou, who was rocking on his heels, trying hard not to smile — failing completely, too. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do. I love him.”

“LeFou.”

He giggled in reply, red in the face. He put his hands to his face and nodded, overwhelmed. “Yeah,” he said, muffled. LeFou cleared his throat and put his hands down. He was beaming and Gaston was breathless. He had never actually paid attention to how LeFou’s eyes lit up when he was grinning like that, the pure _joy_ in his features. He didn’t have more time to admire those little details, as LeFou put his arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, something nervous until Gaston kissed him back. He could feel his body tingling, first in his extremities and then all across his body, making it burn in an almost pleasant way. He pulled back and heard a soft gasp from LeFou. Gaston’ kept his eyes close, terrified of opening them. His heart hammered in his ears, his breathing fast and irregular. He couldn’t feel his feet touch the ground anymore and he clenched his fists. They didn’t seem to hurt him anymore. His claws were gone. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Back to normal. Gaston gasped for air when he felt the grass beneath again. He opened his eyes and looked at LeFou, who was staring at him, eyes and mouth wide. He grinned at Gaston and moved to hug him. “You’re back. It’s you. It’s you, it’s you.”

Gaston ran a hand through his face. His nose was back to its shape, his eyebrows back on place as well. “I’m handsome again,” he whispered, earning a laugh from LeFou. He kissed the top of his head and turned to face the crowd. Pitchforks were being put down, guns unloaded, swords being put back in their sheaths. “People of Villeneuve,” he spoke. LeFou moved to just hold his hand and kissed his shoulder. “I understand the distraught I have brought you. But you must understand where I stood, as well. I had been turned into a werewolf against my will. I had absolutely no previous concept of what a werewolf was. I spent the last days trying to fight horrific instincts I unfortunately lost said battle to. Yes, I have harmed you, and I have killed. But I _beg_ of you to look into yourselves and ask if you wouldn’t have done the same in my place. Just imagine being cursed into being a monster you had no idea existed. Being confused, and trying to fight this _thing_ that burns deep inside of your soul, pleading to come out and destroy everything in its path.”

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Jean stepped forward. “Captain Gaston.”

“Monsieur Jean.”

“I never really liked you. But this I must admit,” he said with a nod. “The courage it took for you to admit you love another of your gender is… something admirable. And you do give great speeches.”

“Thank you. But, to avoid any confusion… Everyone, I’m still very much interested into women.”

“So, you like both?”

“Yes! Exactly.”

“Agathe,” LeFou called.

“Yes?”

He raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. “Do you mind giving Gaston fangs again?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the odd request.

“Wait, giving me what now?”

“No offense but you looked _so_ good with them.”

Gaston scoffed and kissed him. “I love you.”

LeFou replied by turning bright red and cackling. “Shut up! Shut up…”

Gaston laughed. He ran his tongue through his teeth again, finding his canines strangely sharp. “These are good.”

“Good for biting,” LeFou murmured. “In wrestling matches,” he added quickly. “You know… In a wrestling match, nobody bites like Gaston.”

“Yes… Of course.”

“Gaston, do you mind calling their attention?,” Agathe asked.

Gaston took in a breath. She liked him. _They_ liked him. It was good and comforting and like home. Everything really was back to normal. If not a bit better. “Everyone!,” he called, his voice practically echoing throughout the woods. He felt LeFou swoon by his side and held back a smirk. “Agathe has something to tell us.”

She nodded once at him. She stepped forward and spoke. “Since it was due to my idea that your captain turned into a beast, I take full responsibility for all that happened. And so, I’ll give you back whatever you lost. When we’re back to the village, please meet me by the entry of the tavern and tell me what it was that Gaston took from you. Please note that I _am_ an Enchantress and I _will_ know if you are lying to me.” She paused and the crowd murmured. “Now, back to the village, everyone.”

They began walking back to Villeneuve and Agathe turned to the couple. “May I help with the bite?”

“The wolf one?”

“Is there any else?”

“Huh…”

“It’s a wrestling match thing,” Gaston said dismissively.

“Ah, I see.” She pulled LeFou’s sleeve up and undid the bandage. LeFou hissed lightly when Agathe put her hand on the bite. “This will only hurt a bit,” she said. A yellow glow lit LeFou's skin underneath her hand and both men stared at it in awe. She withdrew her hand and smiled. The wound had healed, having left a neat scar in its place. “Take good care of each other,” she said before walking back into the village.

Gaston raised LeFou's arm up to his mouth and kissed gently.

“You're flustering me!,” LeFou complained with a smile, shoving Gaston away gently.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Well, pretty… Pretty nice first kiss, huh?”

Gaston snorted. “You bet.”

“Wanna…” He cleared his throat. “You know, do it again?”

Gaston laughed. “Just ask if I want to kiss you, you fool.”

“I'm not a fool.”

“Yes, you're not. But even if you were you'd be _my_ fool.”

LeFou kissed Gaston's cheek and then put his hands to his face to kiss his lips. This time it was secure, safe. He knew he loved Gaston, and that Gaston loved him back.

Gaston was the one to withdraw but he kissed LeFou's forehead to make up for it. “I need something to drink.”

“ _Christ_ ,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“I do. I haven't drunk in _days_.”

“Fine, let's head down to the tavern.”

Gaston thanked him with a kiss on the temple. “I wonder how Agathe is going to give their pets back to those people.”

LeFou hummed and put a hand on Gaston's back. “She can turn living things into inanimate objects, why not the other way around?”

Gaston nodded, eyes wide in realization.

And everything was okay. LeFou loved him, Gaston loved him back. The villagers once again respected Gaston and viewed him as their leader. Of course, Gaston was still Gaston. He still had his outbursts every now and then, he was still very self-absorbed, and of course he still viewed himself as the best in France. But he made up for it by taking care of the villagers out of genuine concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wrow this is actually the first time I started a multi chapter fic And finished it so yeah nice  
> hope y'all liked it!!


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